Canisp
by Shrrgnien
Summary: Just because CS Lewis never told their stories doesn't mean they weren't there. Or, the story of the fall of the Wolves of Narnia, the birth of the Resistance and the death and reincarnation of hope; of blood spilled in the dark, love forged, shattered and found again, pain and loyalty and family and, above all, of courage in all its forms.
1. Changeling

**OKAY EVERYBODY. LISTEN UP.**

**Some of you may have heard me mention my 'Canisp' series. Well, this is it. The website that's hosted Canisp for the past four years is down and does not look to be coming back; and, well, it wasn't a great venue for Narnia fanfiction.**

**I realize that most people, myself included, come on FFN to read about the characters we already know and love, and not someone else's. However, I hope very much that you will give this a chance. However, giving it a chance does not require sacrificing your inbox. I'm uploading the first chapter of the first book tonight; there are currently two complete books and two chapters of the third completed, and I will be uploading them at pretty much the same time tomorrow (Saturday, Jan. 26th) if all goes well. If you are one of the wonderful, beautiful people who have me on Author Alert, NOW WOULD BE A GOOD TIME TO REMOVE ME (HOPEFULLY TEMPORARILY). I don't want to drown you in updates and make you stop loving me. Give Canisp a chance-if I don't have you by the fourth chapter, feel free to leave. Is that fair? Can we shake on it?**

**With that said... welcome, dear heart. I hope you'll come with me as I rediscover this world; and I hope you fall as deeply in love with it as I have.**

**Chapter 1-Changeling**

"Canisp! Wait up!"

Canisp paused at the crest of the snow-covered hill and looked back over her shoulder. "Well, come on, Meya!" she laughed. A light brown Wolf with a chocolate stripe down her back loped up to her, panting for breath.

"By the Lion, Canisp, you're getting faster every day, I swear it!"

Canisp grinned, exposing her sharp canines, and teased the smaller Wolf, "Maybe you're just getting slower. C'mon, keep up, we're going to be late and all the good pieces will be gone!"

"And whose fault will that be?" Meya shot back. Canisp rolled her eyes good-naturedly and pranced, eager to continue their run, but Meya was in no such hurry. "They'll be gone anyway by the time the dominants are done," she said reasonably. "They always are—for me, anyway." It was true; subordinate Wolves rarely had the chance to snare choice pieces of meat from kills. Home-caught prey like the brace of deer the pack had found today was rare enough; normally hunting parties had to take the two-day trip to the Western Wild in order to find any non-Talking Beasts.

"Ah, but you forget something," said Canisp mischievously. "It's nearly mating season now, all the males will be trying to impress us with their chivalry."

"Which would be wonderful, if they had any more chance of getting so much as a sniff at those deer than we do." Meya was not known for being crisp, but that didn't mean she _couldn't_ be, especially when she was hungry. "Though maybe _Maugrim_ might be willing to let us have a bite. I've _seen_ the way he looks at you."

"That's not funny, Meya!"

"Canisp, I was _joking_…" Her eyes widened. "He hasn't—has he? I thought…" She hesitated. Much more gently, she lowered her voice and asked, "_Has_ he claimed you?"

Canisp shook her head shortly. "Not yet." Meya gave a quiet, fearful whine, and Canisp leaned over instinctively, nuzzling at the smaller Wolf. Meya wasn't the only one who had noticed Maugrim's growing interest; Canisp had been dreading the inevitable for almost a year. It wasn't as if being claimed for a dominant's mate were some sort of death knell, she'd tried to convince herself. At worst it was a few months of staying inside the gathering area and near your male…

…and then the next few years raising pups she didn't want for a mate she hadn't chosen. _Lion's Mane…_

"Maybe he won't claim you," Meya offered.

A tired, affectionate warmth gave Canisp enough levity to smile. "You're a horrible liar."

Meya flicked her ears defiantly. "I'm serious!" she protested. "Haven't you even _considered_ the chance that he might court you properly?"

"Dominants don't court."

Meya fell silent. Even her indomitable optimism couldn't argue with that. Dominants didn't court; they claimed. Choice had no place in the equation, and while one could argue that they were very rarely _cruel_ to their chosen mates, that assurance lasted only as long as the subordinate's full cooperation.

"Maybe he'll be gone soon," she offered quietly. "Then he'll have to catch you if he wants you."

And there it was, that looming threat; the Vereor. These were the elite; the fiercest, most ruthless wolves in all of Narnia, and they served the White Witch alone, her guard and her police. Every so often—when they were bored, or tense, or one of their officers had had a bad day—they would run a sweep through the woods, searching out _traitors_; and since one would be hard-pressed to find so much as a rock that hadn't had some moment of rebellion, no matter how small, the sweeps could easily become slaughters. It had even become a sort of proverb; it was commonly said that 'Narnia trembles at the White Queen's bells; she cowers for the howling of the Wolf.'

During these sweeps, the Vereor would invariably swing through pack territory and bring a she-wolf back with them to the Palace. No she-wolf they took ever returned and everyone knew what awaited them there; truthfully, it didn't take much imagination. Not even the _dominant_ she-wolves were safe; in fact, they were prized, even hunted intentionally. A pack of fighting males, after all, could hardly renew itself, and recruits from the home pack weren't nearly a reliable enough resource to leave to chance.

The Wolves had, at first, tried to oppose this practice, but it was a lost cause. No lone Wolf could fight off the Vereor when they'd been run down. The whole pack might not even have a match for them; and when a good portion of the pack were dominants and Vereor sympathizers, more were mothers or soon-to-be such, and still more were simply terrified, there was no chance of rallying them together.

And so they ran.

Narnia, every spirit that was still free, ran with them. The Vereor could hardly keep their movements a secret; the moment they began a sweep, the dryads nearest the Palace would send a warning, swift as the wind, to be picked up by their sisters and fathers and spread along with a speed no living creature could hope to beat. The pack would scatter into Lantern Waste, where the cover was thickest and the trees were friendly, and Birds and little Beasts would create misleading commotions and blur their trails as much as they could.

It was never enough; the Vereor would stay on the hunt for as long as necessary, and the longer the Free Wolves evaded them, the more brutal their eventual capture would be. But it at least gave the she-wolves a fighting chance. There had been close calls for both Meya and Canisp in the past, and the latter was concerned that one day Meya's slower pace might be her undoing. Meya had her intelligence on her side, though, and her ability to keep her head in a crisis had gotten her out of many a tight place.

Still, Canisp worried.

But right now, the trees were silent. No warning was forthcoming, and the two she-wolves who thought of themselves as sisters were trotting easily through the woods, side-by-side: Meya, light-brown with that queer chocolate stripe down her back, slower than most Wolves but surer-footed, gentle and kind and wise; and Canisp, pure white with flashing, clever eyes and the two-toned feather of a Narnian eagle tied into her fur so that it hung beside her face; swift and bold, brave and true and fiercely loyal.

They made a striking pair, Wolf and Changeling; for despite her initial impression, Canisp was far from a pure-blooded Wolf. The snowy-white wings folded neatly along her spine were the first indication that something was different about her; her tendency to transform into a human—or at least a human-shaped form—was the other, though rarely seen. The bounty on true humans being what it was, a human-shaped form in Narnia was more of a hindrance than a help, however useful thumbs could be; after one too many close calls, Canisp had sworn off her human form for the foreseeable future. Besides, humans were hopelessly slow and devoid of natural weapons; staggering about on two legs with useless arms dangling at her sides was an experience that she did not enjoy.

At the end of the day, _this_ was her true form, this was what she was, and she was happy with it. Her early years with the pack had been distrustful, but mostly due to her having been a loner; pack-born Wolves had an innate distrust for lone wanderers, and coupled with the age-old advice to never trust anything "that looks human but isn't," Canisp had not entered the home pack under the best of circumstances.

But those early days of distrust didn't matter now. The home pack was as close to family as was possible for a group of Wolves who were required by edict to live with and tolerate one another; and while Canisp had never experienced a Christmas dinner, anyone who _had_ could have told her that the description was not far off. So far she had even managed to avoid the attentions of dominants, who tended to turn away from her dismissively come mating season; she never seemed to come into heat, and no dominant wanted to risk difficulty in continuing their line. As Meya had mentioned, however, Maugrim didn't seem to be falling into this crowd. While he might have been less coarse than some other dominants, he was no less… _wrong_, and there were times when the looks he threw her way were less interested than darkly intent.

Canisp wished bitterly that she could have known Narnia before the White Witch, before the rigid new laws that controlled the Free Wolves; back when they had seasons and warmth and Christmas, and the beautiful Narnian dances were played at the proper times, instead of playing the Spring Dance in winter out of sheer longing. Back when she-wolves chose their own mates…

"I wish I could have known it, too," said Meya quietly; somehow she knew what Canisp was thinking without her having to say a word.

"I just..." Canisp wasn't sure what she was going to say, but she didn't need to finish the thought.

"I know." The sounds of the feeding pack could be heard from the clearing ahead, and Meya hurried to take her place with the other subordinate she-wolves. She turned expectantly for Canisp, but the white Wolf shook her head.

"You go ahead. I'm... I lost my appetite." Meya's amber eyes softened sympathetically and she nodded. Canisp waited a moment; a sudden thought seeming to drive her over the edge, and she gave a sudden snarl, whipped around, and leaped into the air, not bothering with a running start. She climbed, higher and higher into a sky ablaze with the setting sun. She wheeled and soared over the darkening forest, trying to leave her problems behind in the trees below her, but not altogether succeeding.

Most of the pack was already asleep by the time Canisp returned. The only wolves still up were the sentries and Meya, dutifully awaiting her friend's return. Canisp made a careful scan of the inner ring of sentries, and eventually found what she was looking for, angling in for a landing near a pair of subordinates.

"Cutting it a bit close," the darker of the two whispered. "Watch changes in a few minutes."

"Watch changed half an hour ago," the second replied grumpily. "Thor just didn't want to wake them up until you got back."

"Thank you," Canisp breathed. This was why she'd wanted to find a subordinate watch; a dominant would have growled and probably cuffed her about for breaking curfew so dramatically. The two sentries merely acknowledged her thanks with a curt nod; Thor returned to his scrutiny of the trees while his partner trotted off toward the sleeping dominants find the next pair. Canisp dipped her muzzle gratefully to Thor one last time and made her way over to Meya's side as quickly as she could before the next watch woke up.

"I saved you some meat," Meya murmured as she lay down next to her, touching her muzzle to Canisp's in greeting.

"Meya, you shouldn't do that!" Canisp was touched by the gesture, but she knew that due to her size and non-confrontational nature Meya rarely got much nourishment; she needed whatever food she could get. "You eat it, I'm fine." Meya apparently realized it was no use arguing, and she snapped down the chunk of venison so quickly that Canisp knew she'd been right to insist on it. She nuzzled the little Wolf gently. "Goodnight, Meya."

"'Night, Canisp."

Meya's eyes drifted closed, but Canisp was too tightly-wound to sleep. She was certain that Maugrim was going to claim her one of these days, and she had no intention of submitting to him or anyone else. She shuddered at the very thought. But then, what choice did she have? She'd never seen a she-wolf resist for long, and she didn't want to know what threat—or worse—had broken their resolve… Her thoughts spiraled in circles for a long time, never getting anywhere, until finally exhaustion came to her aid. She stretched a wing over Meya, curled closer to her side; her eyes finally closed, and she slept.

The pack never heard the Vereor coming.

They had set out in the dead of night when the dryads were all asleep, their energy lowered by the sun's absence. When the pack finally realized the Vereor were hunting, it was because they were being woken up by barked orders to do so.

"She-wolves to the center!" one of the dominants was snapping. "Subordinate males in the back! Runners on the left…"

"Trapped." Meya's low voice was barely audible, but that one word still sent a shiver of fear through the gathering she-wolves. There was no escape, no way out. They were being herded, gathered together for the Vereor to take their pick.

They were done for.

There was a long pause as the huge regiment of Wolves scanned the assembled pack. It seemed an eternity before one of the Vereor stepped forward and said, in a ringing voice, "We are looking for Maugrim. He will come with us."

_Maugrim?_ The whisper spread like a ripple through the wolves. Maugrim, a rebel? If that was true, then the world had turned upside down. Maugrim was sickeningly loyal to the Vereor, and by extent the White Witch...

Maugrim took a single step forward from the line of dominants and answered, "I'm here. What do you want with me? I'm no rebel!"

The Vereor leader said darkly, "We know you are not a traitor. If you were, you would already be dead, of that I can assure you."

"Yes, sir, of course," said Maugrim, dropping tail and muzzle simultaneously.

"We've come to offer you a place among the Queen's Secret Police, if you will accept it."

Maugrim stared. "Join you? _Me?_"

"Yes. Unless, of course, you have some moral objection?" The words were spoken in a light, casual tone, but there was a threat behind them, as though they were daring him to say that he didn't believe in upholding the White Witch's laws.

Maugrim's eyes lit up. "No, sir, Captain!" There was a fanatical eagerness in his face.

"That's just sickening," Canisp muttered to Meya. "Worthless little lap-dog…"

Meya hushed her furiously, casting a terrified glance at the surrounding wolves. However, the Vereor didn't appear to be listening to them. The large gray who had spoken first—Ferinus—was the leader. The moment Maugrim had given his assent, he gave two sharp barks—one to Maugrim, one to the rest of the Vereor—and bounded into the woods. The rest of the Vereor followed him, snapping at the subordinates as they passed but doing no real harm.

**A/N: Seriously though guys take me off Author Alert I will murder your inbox by accident.**


	2. The Hunt

**ALL RIGHT, I WARNED YOU. ****UPLOADING ****_ALL_**** THE THINGS! **

On that note, this chapter is dedicated to the memory of the inbox of WishingOnAFallingStar17, who apparently thought I was joking when I warned you not to follow me. That poor brave fool.

**Chapter 2-The Hunt**

"Thank the Lion," breathed Meya, closing her eyes and sinking to the ground. "They were only here for Maugrim." The surrounding she-wolves shared her sigh of relief, and a thawing feeling began to spread through the pack.

"But surely," muttered a low voice on Canisp's left, "it can't be normal for the _entire_ Vereor to turn out for something like this?"

Canisp looked around to see who was speaking, and found a dark gray Wolf she recognized as one of the sentries from last night; a subordinate the color of lead, a little on the small side, but brave and noble. "Hey, Thor. What do you mean?"

Thor jumped. "Canisp! I didn't see…I mean…"

Canisp couldn't help but give a light bark of laughter, try as she might to stifle it. "Easy," she said, amused. "I was just wondering what you were worrying about. It's hardly the first time they've come to pick up recruits."

"But it's the first time they've come in force like that," Thor fretted. "Usually it's just Ferinus, that monster who leads them…" He glanced nervously at the trees. "I don't know. I've just got this feeling that… I don't like it." He looked up at Canisp, suddenly sheepish. "I guess you think I'm overreacting, right? Being paranoid?"

Canisp shook her head. "Of course not._ Instinct is the wolf's best tool_-"

"-_and he who ignores it is a fool_." Thor completed the verse automatically, a scrap of doggerel all Wolf pups grew up hearing. For a moment he brightened, tail wagging slightly. His dark eyes met Canisp's bright gold ones before flicking away respectfully; Wolves rarely met one another's gaze, as it could be taken as a challenge in the wrong context.

Canisp shuffled her wings cheerfully and was about to change the subject when a distant howl made Thor twitch his ears around. He sighed. "I have to go. I've got deep-sentry duty; I'm taking the northern run with Ignavus."

Canisp winced in sympathy. Ignavus was notoriously strict, upholding the tiniest rules with force. He wasn't Vereor material; he was a weakling, no good in a fight, preferring instead to cause petty trouble for subordinates who didn't have the authority to call him out. Canisp had suffered many run-ins with him over the years, and after Ferinus he was probably her least favorite Wolf in Narnia.

"I'll see you later!" Thor called over his shoulder as he turned and ran north, toward the Great River.

Canisp stood for an indefinite amount of time watching the trees where he had disappeared, a slight smile playing along her muzzle.

"I know what's going on here."

Meya's voice, quiet though it was, still made Canisp jump. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said quickly.

Meya looked surprised. "The Vereor, of course! Isn't that what we were just discussing?"

"Oh! Right, right…"Canisp was inordinately grateful that her thick fur hid the blush she could feel on her cheeks, and also that Meya had apparently not noticed her moment of distraction.

"Well, I think I know what that whole scene was about," Meya said dully. "It was crowd control. They wanted to remind the Free Wolves that they're _not_ free, as if we need reminding." There was a decidedly bitter tone in her normally gentle voice. "It was a show of power. They wanted to remind us who's in charge. And how helpless we are." Her voice broke, and Meya buried her head in the joint where Canisp's wing met her shoulder and whispered, "And they'll come back. They'll do a sweep soon, to go with their power trip. You know they will. And Canisp…" Meya raised her head and looked into her friend's eyes. "I don't think luck will be enough this time." Seeing that Canisp didn't quite understand, she explained, terrified, "Maugrim _wants_ you, Canisp, and he's got the Vereor on his side now. If-"

Canisp hurriedly cut off that line of thinking. "Shh… It's okay, Meya," she said soothingly. "Those oversized cowards couldn't catch me in Lantern Waste if their miserable lives depended on it. I'm faster, smarter, and if they managed to catch up..." She spread her wings slightly. "Besides, the Vereor won't go to any trouble just to catch _me_. One she-wolf's the same as another to them."

"But not to Maugrim! He-"

"-has just joined today. I don't think they'll go to much trouble for the _newbie_, do you?" Canisp nuzzled Meya affectionately. "I'll be fine."

Meya still looked uneasy, but she let the subject drop. "You didn't eat anything last night," she pointed out. "Do you want to ask permission to form a hunting party? I'm sure some of the others would like to come. We could wait for Thor to get back, if you want," she added casually, but there was something in her eyes that gave Canisp a sneaking suspicion that Meya had noticed a lot more than she had given her credit for.

She shook her head, more than slightly exasperated with the world in general. A hunt in the Western Wild, with no sentries and no boundaries and a chance to have a proper kill for once, was just what she needed. "You talk to Aram," she said. "That sounds like a great idea."

Canisp hated the Western Wild. It was dark and…well, _creepy_, and the trees were just trees. Very few Dryads lived here, so far from Aslan's influence, and those few that did were malevolent, poisonous as often as not, and without exception on the side of the White Witch. Besides evil trees, the Western Wild was home to a great number of Dark creatures- hags, werewolves, Minotaurs, demons—and no honest Narnian in their right mind would venture there willingly.

Nevertheless, that was where she was headed. It was only logical; the lack of Aslan's touch in the Wild meant that there were no Talking Beasts there, only dumb animals, and that made it the perfect hunting ground. It was dangerous, certainly; but with a traditional hunting party of six wolves, the danger was minimal, and well worth it if your hunt was successful.

Canisp was very happy with her party. It was, if not _rare,_ then certainly noteworthy for a subordinate she-wolf to have permission to lead males on a hunt. She was joined by Meya, naturally, and Thor had enthusiastically agreed to come with them the moment he returned from his run. Two sisters named Jenga and Firebird had joined them as well, along with a male named Mercury. The she-wolves both had a reddish-orange tinge to their fur, though it was more pronounced in Firebird's case, hence her name. They were good friends; Firebird being soft-spoken and gentle, she had befriended Meya almost instantly, and while Jenga's fiercely protective nature had led her to 'defend' her sister from Canisp for several years, she had eventually been won over and become Canisp's favorite hunting partner. Mercury was a new find; a very light gray, almost silvery subordinate, he appeared to be a hard worker so far, and Canisp was satisfied with him. He did have a proud streak, however, and seemed rather resentful at being ordered about.

Canisp sighed. Males. They had fragile egos.

Mercury bounded up to her. "_I've_ picked up some tracks," he said importantly. "I'll take you there."

"What are they?"

"They're either buffalo or the biggest deer in the world," he said acidly. "I _said_ I'd show you, if you want to see them yourself."

Canisp bristled, but resisted the urge to bite him. "How old are they?"

Mercury shrugged. "A day, maybe. We can find it."

Thor, who had drifted closer during this exchange, looked expectantly to Canisp. "Do you want to form attack groups?" he asked politely. "Or attack in one party?"

Mercury snorted derisively. "You can't take down buffalo like a deer," he said. "You have to split up and take it from at least two sides."

"Then we'll form attack groups now," Canisp snapped, resisting the urge to snarl at Mercury's condescending tone. "It'll save time when we get close enough to bring it down." She raised her head and gave a short howl. Within minutes the hunting party, which had spread out to find tracks, began to appear out of the dark trees. Their eyes, even gentle Firebird's, were bright with excitement for the chase. Spotting Meya, Canisp motioned for her to step away from the group a bit. She joined her in the trees a few yards away from the others.

"What are we tracking?" Meya asked.

"Mercury found some buffalo tracks. We're forming attack groups now. You'll lead one?"

Meya looked thrilled. "Buffalo? And you want _me_ to lead an attack group?"

"Of course," Canisp grinned. "Who else?" She understood Meya's happiness. Buffalo were a prize beyond imagining for a group of subordinates; taking them down brought enough prestige that dominants would interrupt the cycle to form a special hunting party if a buffalo was reported in the Wild. Growing more serious, Canisp added, "We'll need your judgment; Mercury's chomping at the bit to take this thing down, but if we can't do it I want _you_ in charge to make that call. Nobody's dying today." Meya nodded solemnly, and Canisp grinned again and gave her a playful cuff. "And we'll just see if anyone tries to bar you from a kill once you've taken down a buffalo! Who do you want in your group? If you take Thor and Firebird, Jenga and Mercury can come with me."

Meya glanced at the others. Thor and Mercury were arguing (Canisp thought she heard her name a few times) and Jenga and Firebird were sitting under a tree with their ears pricked, watching the males like a tennis match. "Don't you want Thor in your group?" Meya asked quietly. "I could take Mercury and Firebird."

Canisp hesitated. It was sorely tempting. "I don't want to stick you with Mercury," she confessed. "He's getting to me. Why did we pick him, again?"

"He heard me asking Firebird and wanted to come, and since we only had five Aram made me take him," Meya said simply. "He's certainly… confident."

"Arrogant, you mean."

"He's just showing off."

"He needs to _stop_ showing off."

Meya laughed softly. "You win. I'll take Mercury and Firebird, you take Jenga and Thor. You work better with them than I do, anyway."

Canisp sighed gratefully. "Meya, I owe you one. Come on; let's get started on this hunt before Thor and Mercury start ripping each other to shreds." She trotted over to the other wolves; Thor and Mercury stopped talking suddenly at her approach. Quickly, she told them their attack groups. Thor, Firebird, and Jenga looked happy; Mercury looked mutinous, and Canisp eyed him distrustfully for a moment before deciding that, as leader of the hunt, she had more important things to worry about than Mercury's ego. "Where are those tracks?" she asked him, trying to temper her irritation.

The silver wolf gave her a disdainful look. "Over here." He led them a short distance away and indicated some large hoof marks in the snow. "Like I said. Buffalo."

Meya sniffed them. "I'm not so sure about that," she said hesitantly. "They look awfully strange for buffalo tracks. You see how they're-

"They're buffalo tracks; I know what I'm doing!" Mercury snapped. "_You've _obviously never hunted buffalo before."

Doubt flickered in Meya's eyes. Of course she hadn't hunted buffalo before; she had never gotten the chance. Mercury opened his mouth again, but Canisp cut him off.

"We'll assume they're buffalo tracks and follow them," she said with a silent apology to Meya. It pained her to take Mercury's word over her heart-sister's, but she had to do what was best for the pack. "Stay together until we see the prey, then get in your groups; mine will hold and watch, Meya's will circle around and give the signal to-"

"-you know, the usual." Not surprisingly, this was Mercury.

Again, Canisp bit back an angry retort, as well as a strong urge to rip his head off. She satisfied herself by shooting him a filthy look, then pointedly looking away and setting a brisk pace after the tracks.

But there were two things she didn't know: Mercury had never hunted buffalo before, either. And he had just made the worst mistake of his life.

**A/N:** For a fun bonus, try putting some of the names that sound a little odd (Ignavus, Ferinus, Vereor...) through a Latin-to-English translator. Is it my fault Latin words make great names?


	3. Meya

**Chapter 3-Meya**

Canisp was feeling decidedly uneasy. If she was completely honest with herself, this was partially because the Western Wild was not what could be called a relaxing environment. However, the vast majority of her discomfort stemmed from the fact that whatever they were stalking, it was no buffalo. She was certain of that much. As Meya had pointed out, something about the tracks was just slightly _off_. Besides that, she was beginning to see little signs, things no buffalo could have done. A small tree she'd seen as they walked had been downed; she'd seen Beaver work, and this was not it. The tree had been _chopped,_ and the trunk cut up. Branches across the creature's path had been snapped. There was nothing unusual about that, Mercury insisted. A big animal like a buffalo could easily snap twigs. But Canisp saw that they had definitely been cut, not merely broken. Cut with a knife.

This was no buffalo.

As she came to this firm conclusion, she froze. Jenga bumped into her from behind, and Mercury bumped into Jenga, but Canisp hardly cared; she was focused on the peculiar sensation that had possessed her. It was hard to describe; like a shiver through her mind or a dark shadow in her heart. But while the actual sensation might have been difficult to nail down, there was one thing that was absolutely certain. Something was _wrong_, and glancing to her right, Canisp met Meya's eyes and knew that she could feel it, too.

Humans often have similar feelings, but they usually dismiss them as imagination. Indeed, as Canisp looked around the still wood, with the pale winter sun slanting through the trees and glittering off the snow, she nearly shrugged off her sudden uneasiness.

Nearly.

But she was a Narnian Wolf, and ever since the First Day, the very beginning of time, Wolves had trusted their instinct and it had served them well. Canisp placed a great deal of faith in lupine intuition, and right now every fiber of her being was screaming _"Danger!"_ at the top of its fibrous lungs.

"What's going on?" Mercury asked in his sharp voice.

"Something's wrong," she whispered.

"Oh, not this again-" Mercury began.

Then a Minotaur burst out of the undergrowth on their right.

He was huge, his bull's body sleek, black, and bulging with muscle. The hairy human torso was also massive and muscular, and his long, sharp, black-tipped horns glinted cruelly on his head. He had a thick neck, rough hair, and a cruel, brutish face. His hooves were hard and shiny, and, more importantly, even the momentary glance Canisp got of them was enough to tell her what had been strange about the tracks they'd been following. _Aslan help us_, she thought with dread. _We were stalking a Minotaur_. The Minotaur raised a heavy wooden club above his head as he charged them, bellowing in fury and ready to strike.

The Wolves scattered; Jenga, Meya and Mercury backpedalled madly as Thor and Canisp leapt forward out of harm's way. There was a moment of relief as the Minotaur galloped straight past them—_regroup, brace, we can take it now_—but then a dull thud and a yelp of pain made Canisp whirl around, and she felt her heart drop to her stomach.

Firebird hadn't been quick enough. The Minotaur's thick club had knocked her off her feet, and as the pack watched in horror, he twisted his meaty hands into her soft fur, slammed her against a tree and lunged forward, down, his wicked horns burying themselves just behind Firebird's shoulder.

Muscles ripped, and she howled in pain and fear.

The Minotaur tossed his head, and Firebird was flung several feet over his shoulder. She landed in a crumpled heap and tumbled over herself, blood beginning to pour onto the snow, staining her warm fur a darker scarlet than it was ever meant to be. She choked out a whimpering sob, and fury at her friend's pain flared in Canisp's belly. She bared her teeth and tensed to spring, but before she had moved the Minotaur was already reeling back, roaring in pain.

Meya, sweet, gentle Meya, had attacked, a furious snarl in her throat as she tore at her prey. She had all four feet planted on his broad back, her strong jaws locked around his neck with no intention of letting go. He struggled, bellowing, and then his front legs buckled slightly and it seemed Meya had taken him down. Canisp raised her head to give a victorious howl, but the joyful sound died in her throat as elation was replaced by panic. The Minotaur's strong fingers, groping behind his head, closed on the scruff of Meya's neck and yanked savagely. She yelped in surprise, and the yelp loosened her grip. The Minotaur swung her off his back and threw her to the ground. For a moment she was dazed, and before she could get back to her feet he had grabbed her by the scruff of her neck again. She snapped wildly, but the creature simply slung her over his shoulder and charged through the tree line, disappearing into the woods.

Meya writhed frantically in her captor's grip, her feet flailing in the air, but she knew it was useless. Minotaurs were hot-headed and not all that bright, but they were unbelievably strong, much too strong for an undersized she-wolf to handle alone. Maybe Canisp, she thought, could have survived a fight with him. But even she wouldn't _win_—just, maybe, survive and escape. Maybe. But Meya didn't have a prayer.

_No, _she growled to herself. _You of all people should know better. You're still alive, aren't you? There's hope, then! So fight!_

_And how _exactly_ do you propose to do that? _replied her cynical side.

_However I can!_

_Oh, brilliant._

Meya ignored this sarcastic side of her consciousness, forcing herself to focus. _The trick is to break its grip._

_How?_

She couldn't do it under her own power, but if he let her go, she might have a chance…

_And if the White Witch would snap her wand in half, close her eyes and turn away, we would have a chance to reclaim Narnia, but _that's _not going to happen._

_Minotaurs are easily tricked._

_Even they're not that stupid… are they?_

It was worth a try. Taking a deep breath, Meya called, "What's the matter? Afraid to fight a weakling she-wolf? Minotaurs are supposed to be the most terrifying monsters in the world, and you're running away?"

The Minotaur skidded abruptly to a halt, pulling her off his shoulder and holding her in the air by the scruff of her neck like a misbehaving pup. "Mongrel!" he roared. His breath smelled like things best left un-smelled. "I could crush you without even trying!" The fingers of his free hand flashed out and tightened painfully around her neck.

"Could you?" Meya choked. "I think not. I think you're just a fat, lazy steer who-"

The Minotaur's infuriated roar cut her off. He swung her back over his shoulder and then plunged forward, flipping Meya easily over his head and into the frozen ground. It was an effective technique. The victim would usually be dazed and disoriented from the flip and the stunning impact, making them easy targets for the deadly, crushing hooves of the Minotaur, or else the blow of an axe or a club. Meya knew this, and she was ready for it.

But something went wrong. As she was flung forward, her left shoulder caught on the tip of the Minotaur's sharp horns. It tore open to the bone, and she just barely had time to become aware of the pain before she was slammed to the hard, frozen earth. She screamed in pain, but forced herself to keep her head even as it swam from the impact. She managed to scramble away on her three good legs, narrowly avoiding the devastating stomp of hard black hooves that promised a swift and painful death. She snapped at the monster's foreleg and missed. She met his eyes for a brief moment, and they both knew.

She was going to lose. She had picked this fight knowing she couldn't win. As if to emphasize the point, a heavy club swung, seemingly out of nowhere, at her head. She dropped to the blood-splattered snow to avoid it. Seeing an opening, she lunged forward and managed a glancing slash at her enemy's foreleg, but there was never a question of who would win. Meya was simply not a fighter; she never had been. Where she had cleverness and courage, the Minotaur had massive strength, and he used it. Meya managed to hold her own for a few moments, but then the Minotaur feinted with his horns, and she leaped out of the way—directly into the path of a whistling club.

The blow knocked her through the air and straight into the trunk of a thick pine. She crashed into the unyielding wood and collapsed in a way her bones were never designed to accommodate. There was a loud _crack_; Meya gave a piercing cry as she felt her rear ankle twist in the exposed tree roots and snap. The Minotaur grinned cruelly as she struggled to get to her feet, only to cry out again and sink back down. She barked and growled threateningly, but his grin only widened.

As he raised his club to make the final blow, Meya closed her eyes.

There was a strange whizzing sound, and a hoarse bellow of pain. Opening her eyes, Meya saw the Minotaur whirl around and drop his club. There was a flicker of movement in the trees, another _whir_, and he jerked again and collapsed without a sound, a pair of gray-feathered arrows in his heart and the back of his shoulder.

In his place there stood a young woman with choppy auburn hair. She wore a long-sleeved, snow-white tunic, dark leather boots, and slightly baggy cotton pants that were dyed pale green. A plain leather belt held a worn pouch on one hip. Incongruously, a ceremonial Narnian dagger—fine silver, with a ruby set in the hilt—hung on the other. A half-full quiver was on her back, and she held a strung bow.

The girl looked vaguely human, but there were subtle signs that marked her for what she was. The wolves at her flanks were a good hint, but it went deeper than that. Her eyes, rather than being a humans' shallow, dyed colors, were light gold, like gilded butterscotch—wolves' eyes. She moved awkwardly, carefully, like she had to consciously focus to control an unfamiliar body and wasn't certain what to do with most of it. A familiar Narnian eagle feather hung on the side of a face she hadn't used in over five years.

It was Canisp.

"Meya!" she called, and tripped to her sister's side. "Meya, tell me you're all right." Her eyes reflected Meya's pain.

That pain was becoming unbearable. Meya gasped slightly for breath, and couldn't stop a pitiful whimper when Canisp's human hands blundered against her shoulder and made the wound twinge sickeningly. "Sorry!" Canisp said hurriedly. "Sorry, sorry, sorry…" She kept up a murmured steam of apologies as she did her best to care for her dearest friend. She was as delicate as possible, but the she-wolf still yelped at regular intervals, especially when Canisp set her leg inexpertly and made an emergency splint out of sticks and a strip of leather cord that had been wound around the Minotaur's club. A foul-smelling paste—Traveler's Friend, the simplest first-aid in the known world, which even pups knew how to mix to take off the sting of a thorn in their paw—helped ease the pain of her torn shoulder. Finally, Canisp shredded her tunic to make a temporary bandage, binding Meya's shoulder as best she could before hurriedly shifting back to her wolf to avoid freezing to death.

But emergency measures like that could only go so far. Meya needed serious help, a proper healer. They could not find that in the Western Wild.

But Canisp knew where they could.


	4. Healing

**A/N:** Confession time: I may be slightly in love with Jenga, just a little. If there was a character standing in for me, it would probably be Jenga. What that says about me I don't want to know.

**Chapter 4-Healing**

"Typical," muttered Jenga. "On top of everything else, it's _snowing_ now."

"Quiet," Canisp responded, a bit more snappishly than she had intended. She looked anxiously at Meya. Her sister had become quieter and quieter during the long, painful journey to Lantern Waste, her energy and normally unshakable optimism sapped by her wounds. Her usually sparkling eyes were dull and hopeless as she limped along, broken leg tucked tightly against her belly, leaning heavily on Canisp.

"So…where…where are these friends of yours?" asked Mercury hesitantly. He was barely recognizable as the arrogant wolf that had set out on a hunting trip less than a week before. His cockiness had been replaced by sickened guilt, and his tail was tucked tightly between his legs. He spoke tentatively, not in his old condescending manner; he seemed to think he had no right to ask even the simplest question.

Canisp was perfectly content to let him remain in this mindset. Firebird, on the other hand, was of a more forgiving nature.

"They're not far," she said quietly. She began to say more, but then her injured shoulder suddenly gave way. She stumbled badly, and would have fallen had Mercury not leapt forward and caught her. She smiled gratefully at him, and he tried to return the gesture, but it came out as more of a pained grimace. For a split second, Canisp's heart went out to him in spite of herself.

Meya gave another stifled whimper of pain, and her sympathy for Mercury vanished.

"It's okay, Meya," Canisp whispered. "Just a little farther. They're around here somewhere… _damn_ this snow! I can't see a thing!"

"There!" said Jenga suddenly.

Canisp squinted into the forest, and her heart leapt as she saw warm patches of light across the valley, shining through the darkness and the cold. "Oh, thank Aslan," she breathed. "We made it!"

Meya blinked, turning a slow look on Canisp. "What?" she asked dully.

"We made it, Meya. We're here."

"Oh. That's good…"Meya responded vaguely. Then she frowned. "What did you say again?"

Canisp exchanged a panicked look with the others. Maybe that blow to the head had been more serious than they'd thought.

"Canisp?" said Meya, and the weakness of her voice wound Canisp's fear even tighter. "I… I'm sorry… I can't walk anymore. I just… it hurts…" She swayed slightly, and Thor quickly stepped to her other side, so that she was held up between him and Canisp. Canisp glanced frantically at the warm windows. They were _so close_. But one look at Meya said enough: she couldn't go on. She had already walked for miles, bleeding through her bandages, with only two uninjured legs. If she spent another night in this condition, she would never see the sun again.

Jenga slipped between Canisp and Meya, crouching down slightly to support the smaller she-wolf's weight from below. "Go," she told Canisp. "You're faster."

Canisp streaked through the trees, half running and half flying toward those two small windows. The snow was deceptively deep; just when she thought she'd found a stable path it would fall out from under her, and she had to use wings and feet alike to struggle out of the drift. She was half-blind with snow, and every second wasted floundering in the stuff was another second in which she could picture Meya, deep in Lantern Waste and fading fast, slipping quietly away without even her sister at her side.

She tried to run faster.

When she finally reached the worn wooden door, she skidded to a stop and reared up on her hind legs. She planted her front feet on the dark wood, grabbed the weathered iron knocker in her mouth and let it fall repeatedly. When the door opened, she had a glimpse of a comfortable, firelit cave of reddish stone before she fell forward onto all fours.

"Typhis," she gasped. "Govinia. Please, you have to help me."

* * *

"There we are," said Govinia comfortably, standing up. Meya smiled gratefully at the Faun. "You were in a bad way, but you should be fine, given enough time."

"Thank you," said Meya quietly. She certainly looked much better. Her fur, rather than the matted, bloody, bedraggled mess it had been on her arrival, was clean and fluffy. Her shoulder was wrapped in fresh bandages and packed with a powerful healing poultice, and her ankle had been set properly and cased in plaster. As Canisp watched, Govinia set a wooden bowl in front of Meya and filled it with a light purple liquid. Meya's eyes lit up, and she glanced guiltily at Canisp.

Canisp laughed at her apologetic expression. Govinia's medicines smelled much better than hers.

Meya grinned tiredly across the small cave and lapped up the sweet-smelling potion. Canisp dimly heard Govinia in the background, speaking cheerfully as she moved onto Firebird's mauled shoulder; but the changeling's attention was on Meya, who was curled somewhat awkwardly on a thick rug in front of the fireplace.

"So," Thor asked. "How do you know them, anyway?"

There was a quiet chuckle. "She saved Govinia's life."

Canisp turned her head to see Typhis, sitting in one of the inviting armchairs. Like his wife, he was quite young. He had curly black hair and two small, pointy horns. His goat legs were covered in shaggy black fur. He had changed out of the long coat he had worn carrying Meya across the valley, and now wore a thick red sweater. He looked at her curiously with kind brown eyes.

"It's kind of a long story…" Canisp hedged, seeing Thor's interest.

Typhis spread his hands. "We've got nothing but time."

"Well," Canisp began, "I met her…a long time ago. I'm not sure how old she was…maybe six years?"

"Five," Govinia corrected. "Does it hurt here?"

Leaving her to tend to Firebird, Canisp continued. "She'd wandered away from home. She hadn't gone far, but then it started snowing, and she got lost. This was before I joined the home pack…or rather, before there _was_ a home pack." Seeing Typhis' confusion, she explained, "The Vereor was only formed nine or ten years ago. That's what the mandatory single pack and the mating regulations were made for, you know," she added for the benefit of Thor, who had always been part of a pack. "To provide a way to train strong males for the Vereor."

"What's the 'Vereor'?"

It took a few moments of staring at Typhis for this question to sink in. "Oh! That's our name for the Secret Police."

"Ah."

Canisp stretched and yawned, turning back to Thor. "This was back when I was a loner. I found her huddled under a tree, half frozen to death. So I brought her back to some Badgers in the area, they cooked some sardines for us, and she slept under my wing for the night. I brought her home the next day. Her father made this for me," she said, shifting to human form and swinging her quiver off her shoulder.

Typhis blushed and looked away, and across the room Govinia made a mental note to get Canisp a new tunic before she left.

The quiver was truly a work of art, made of light wood and carved with intricate pictures of Beasts and beasts. "That's the real reason I learned how to shoot," she confessed, shrugging it back onto a naked shoulder before changing back to her wolf. "I felt like I should know how to use it. Dinaric taught me. Her brother," she added, and Thor nodded in understanding. "I was still a loner, but their house became my… den, I suppose." Typhis looked mystified, but she was telling the story to Thor, who understood completely. "I used to go flying with her every day, she'd ride on my back," Canisp said reminiscently. "She was like my little sister."

Thor frowned and looked from Canisp to Govinia, who, although young, looked older so far as he could judge non-lupine ages. Guessing what he was thinking, Canisp tried to explain. "I'm three years younger than her, actually. Dinaric did some research on the subject. As best we can figure, Talking Beasts mature at the same speed as dumb ones, but once we reach maturity—around three or four years, for Wolves—we age at the same speed as the Kings and Queens of Narnia; the real ones, the humans. I'm… sixteen, I think, but Dinaric says I look twenty in human form, and I was three years old when I met Govinia, but I looked around thirteen. The pattern seems to hold with all Wolves. We've barely aged four years in the past thirteen, apparently."

Thor looked (and felt) extremely confused, and desperately tried to turn the conversation back to something he understood. "So you lived with her family?"

Acknowledging his attempt, Canisp nodded. "More often than not. I was her protector. And then the Vereor came, and the home pack. I didn't _want_ to join it…"

"Very few wolves did," Jenga pointed out from Firebird's side. "But what choice did we have?"

Canisp dipped her muzzle slightly in acknowledgement. "Wolves that ignored the edict were disappearing every day. I stayed as long as I could, but eventually…" She trailed off. Then she brightened considerably. "I sang at her Initiation, though." A definite note of pride was in her voice. A ten-year-old Faun's Initiation was when they sang at a dance for the first time, and was the single most important event in their lives. There were five traditional songs they could choose from, and each had three sections; the largest part, naturally, was for the young Faun. There was also a small part for their parents, and a larger part for a role model that the young Faun chose. It was a huge honor to be chosen for this ceremony, and even Thor was impressed.

"Which song did you sing?" he asked eagerly.

"_Earth and Sky_," she responded. "It seemed appropriate."

"Very appropriate," Typhis agreed. "I sang _Pathfinder_."

"Oh, that's a beautiful one."

"They're all beautiful," said Govinia, drying her hands on a towel and sitting down in one of the friendly armchairs. She frowned. "Canisp, you look awful. Have you slept at all in the last three days?"

Canisp didn't meet her eyes. "A little…"

Govinia tutted. "I'll make you some tea."

"Govinia thinks tea is the answer to everything," said Typhis in a stage whisper.

Govinia rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Well, in your case, Canisp, this really _will_ help." She held up a trio of bright red leaves.

Canisp brightened. "Poinsettia! Govinia, where did you find it?"

"I grew it," Govinia said, gesturing toward a potted plant in the corner of the tiny kitchen. "Take as much as you want before you leave, won't you?" She placed the leaves in a porcelain bowl and began grinding them into dust.

Thor spoke up from his corner. "What's so special about poinsettia?"

"It has restorative properties for changelings…and werewolves," Canisp added reluctantly. The fact that she had anything in common with a Dark creature was a sore spot, but it didn't dampen her enthusiasm for the plant. "It's incredible. It neutralizes aconite poisoning, takes out rashes, heals headaches-"

"And if, hypothetically, a changeling were to go without sleep for almost _seventy-eight hours_, it would help combat the effects of severe exhaustion," said Govinia, clopping over to Canisp with a bowl of pale pink tea in her hands.

"Hypothetically, of course," piped up Thor. Canisp shot him an evil look and he grinned back innocently.

"Drink," ordered Govinia, and, smiling slightly, Canisp obediently drank. The powdered poinsettia took effect almost immediately; she hadn't realized how achy and tired she had felt until both sensations were washed away. Govinia took a deep breath and looked seriously at her lifelong friend. "Canisp," she said, "I realize you may not want to talk about this, but I don't think it's healthy for you to avoid the issue." She hesitated. "Who…who did you lose, Canisp?"

The question caught her off guard. "What are you talking about?"

"I _know_ that a hunting party always has six wolves. There are five of you. Who did you lose?"

Now Canisp was extremely confused. She looked around the little cave. Meya had fallen asleep in front of the little fireplace, overcome with exhaustion. Her sides rose and fell slowly as the firelight played over her cinnamon-colored fur. Thor still sat in his corner, and met Canisp's confused look with one of his own. Jenga lay on a warm blanket beside an overstuffed bookshelf just behind Govinia; _The Life and Letters of Silenus_ looked in danger of falling on her head. Firebird, bandaged and blood-free, lay beside her. Everyone was here. Everyone except…

"Where's Mercury?" asked Firebird.

"I'm not sure. Did he come inside?"

"I didn't see him…"

Both wolves turned to the small window. From what they could see, the snowstorm that had been merely an annoyance before had become a full-fledged blizzard.


	5. Forgiveness

**Chapter 5-Forgiveness**

"Mercury!" called Canisp into the swirling blackness. "Mercury, you idiot, where are you?" She glanced back; she could barely see the light of the windows behind her, but so long as she followed the cliff, she thought, at least she wouldn't get lost.

"_Mercury!"_

She took another step forward and felt the snow under her paws give way. Her front feet fell into a drift and made contact with something furry that moved. Sighing with relief and exasperation, she dug it out of the bank, paying little attention to the scratching of her claws against it.

"What in the name of Aslan are you doing out here?" she demanded.

Mercury, looking up at her from the snow, whimpered miserably. "I can't go in there. I don't deserve h—it. Firebird, Meya, they both could have died because of me!"

"So you think it will help if you freeze to death?"

"Why should you care if I do?" he cried. "Who would miss me?" He dropped his head back onto his paws and looked away, not looking at all as if he would be moving any time soon. "If I freeze to death," he said, "I'll deserve it."

Looking at the miserable wolf, Canisp felt the last bit of anger leave her. She tried to find the words to reassure him, but she just didn't know what to say.

"Come inside, Mercury," said a new, soft voice. Firebird was limping slowly toward them through the storm. "Please."

"Firebird," Canisp started, "You should be…"

Firebird shot her a firm look, and Canisp shut up, stepping aside to let her come closer.

Mercury looked up at her with a tortured expression. "I don't deserve to live."

Firebird snarled and bit his shoulder; not hard enough to really injure him, but enough to make him yelp. "Don't _ever_ say that again!" she snapped, and Canisp stared at her. It almost looked like Firebird had just bitten someone and then _growled_ at them, and she wasn't certain if the world made sense anymore. "The fact that you regret your mistake shows that you _should_ live, to make up for it. And you certainly _deserve _to live, more than half the Wolves in Narnia, and just as much as the other half! And, damn you, I'm not letting you freeze yourself to death because of some Omega complex!"

It was the longest speech Canisp had ever heard from Firebird—quite possibly the longest one she'd ever made. For a few moments, Mercury simply looked at her, stunned. Then, slowly, hesitantly, he got to his feet. Firebird smiled, her eyes inexpressibly tender, then turned and walked back through the trees.

Mercury followed meekly, and Canisp stood in the middle of a blizzard, staring after them and wondering what, exactly, had just happened.

After several seconds, she realized she was cold and hurried after them. Canisp entered the cave just behind the two, and nudged the door closed with her nose. When she turned around, Mercury was in the process of lying down next to Firebird on the thick carpet. Jenga snarled warningly at him, but Firebird spoke softly to her sister, and—reluctantly, it was clear—Jenga laid her head on her paws, still looking disapproving. Typhis nodded to Canisp and set another bowl of medicine beside the fire for the sleeping Meya before stretching and leaving the room, presumably going to bed. Govinia stood in the kitchen area, holding a bundle of blankets and a bottle. Canisp walked over to her friend, rearing up onto her hind legs and supporting herself against the counter to sniff curiously at the bundle. Govinia smiled and shifted the blankets slightly.

"He looks just like his father, doesn't he?" she whispered.

Tongue lolling out and grinning like a loon, Canisp leaned in carefully, letting the little boy grasp at her. "What's his name?" she asked quietly, tilting her head as her ear was tugged.

"Tumnus, after my father."

"That's a good-" Canisp began, but the rest of the sentence was cut off by a monumental yawn.

Govinia laughed quietly. "Get some sleep before you swallow my son." Canisp yawned again in answer, and shuffled slowly over to join Thor in his corner. He moved happily aside for her, and she was fast asleep before she'd even had a chance to collapse.

* * *

The next year was uneventful, as years go. Meya's injuries proved to be less grave than they had feared. Under Govinia's expert care (and with daily visits from Canisp with stories, food and affection) she soon recovered, and returned to the home pack without so much as a scar as soon as Govinia was certain that her concussion—Canisp's suspicions had been correct—was fully healed. A dominant, Kosovar by name, claimed Jenga as his mate. It was a stressful two weeks, but the incident was all but forgotten in gales of laughter when he released her, having discovered her uncanny ability to disappear off the face of the earth whenever he was nearby.

The Wolves who had been in that fateful hunting party were soon nigh on inseparable, with the possible exception of Jenga and Mercury, who still had a great deal of friction between them. Conversely, Mercury was touchingly devoted to Firebird and could hardly be pried from her side with a crowbar. Meya and Canisp were as close as ever, though their duo had become a trio with the addition of Thor. Meya had soon begun to look for him as often as Canisp did, though perhaps with different motivation; the two had developed a friendship that promised to be one for the ages. Jenga and Firebird also spent a lot of time with the three, Firebird more than her sister, who had a more solitary disposition. Then, of course, there were the times when neither Firebird nor Mercury was anywhere to be found. Admittedly, as nobody really wanted to know what they were up to, nobody tried particularly hard to find them.

Three more dominants joined the Vereor, with nowhere near the fanfare that had accompanied Maugrim's induction. This brought an unforeseen but welcome consequence: the Vereor were so busy training their new recruits, they had no spare time to make a sweep. The females welcomed this unexpected reprieve, and the Narnian Wolves were more or less happy.

Yes, it was an uneventful year, on the whole. And then something happened that would not only change Canisp's life forever, but rock the Narnian lupine hierarchy to the core.

It was just after noon. Jenga and Firebird had gone off toward the Great river earlier, spending some sister time together. Mercury was on deep-sentry duty at the Southern border. ("The lucky swine," Thor had added. "Southern Patrol is the soft job!") Meya, Canisp, and Thor lay in a relatively snow-free place under a friendly Tree. All three of them were laughing at some stupid joke or another when a young Wolf ran up to them. Canisp didn't know his name. He was quite small, no more than two years old, but he already had some weight coming, and she recognized him as a runner; a sort of dominant-in-training.

"C-Canisp?" he said nervously. "I have a me-message for you."

"Oh?" Canisp said in a friendly manner. "Let's hear it, then."

The youngster took a deep breath, fixed his gaze at a point a few inches above Canisp's head, and recited in a formal tone: "A Corporal of the Queen's Secret Police wishes to speak with you. He is waiting for you. You will find him if you walk straight between those two trees." He dipped his muzzle in the direction of two leafless young oaks.

Canisp met Meya's eyes, and a panicked sort of understanding passed between them. "What was his name?"

The runner hesitated. "I don't…he didn't tell me…he said you would know who he was."

Maugrim.

Oh, yes, she knew who he was.

"Well, Canisp?" said an unpleasant voice. Ignavus slimed up beside the runner. "Aren't you going to meet him? A member of the Secret Police has summoned you. Dismissed, Kiev," he snapped at the young wolf, and Kiev dipped his head quickly and hurried off, looking only too glad to be gone.

"I'm not about to-" Canisp began indignantly.

At that moment, every dominant in the pack stood up as one. That was all they did—just stand up—but it was all that was needed.

"Disobey the Vereor," she finished in a small voice.

Ignavus grinned cruelly. "Then you'd best be going," he taunted, inclining his head in the direction the runner had indicated.

Canisp got slowly to her feet. She didn't look at her friends, didn't want to see their panic; she was having trouble just handling her own. Strangely, it was Ignavus' slowly widening smirk that gave her courage. _He enjoyed her panic._ He liked seeing how terrified she was.

She wasn't going to give him that pleasure. Squaring her shoulders and doing her best to ignore the dread clutching at her stomach, she stepped purposefully between the two young oaks.

**A/N:** Fun fact: The working title of this chapter teetered between "Forgiveness" and "Firebird", which says a lot about her character.


	6. Bloodlust

**A/N:** Guys, fair warning-this is the part where the story earns its M. Seriously-this is not a sexy chapter, readers.

**Chapter 6-Bloodlust**

Canisp found Maugrim some distance away, sitting with his ears pricked and his tail curled casually around his paws with a fresh kill in front of him. Her mouth began to water; she hadn't eaten in days. Still, she hung back.

Maugrim smiled warmly and gave a soft chuckle. "There's no need to look so nervous, Canisp. I just want to talk." He pushed the dead rabbit toward her with one paw. "Why don't you eat while I tell you why I'm here?" he asked, looking concerned. "You look hungry. Have you been hunting enough?"

Canisp eyed him suspiciously, but she moved forward in spite of herself, drawn by the irresistible scent of the meat. She lowered her head and sniffed it, hesitated for a moment, then tore into the carcass. Maugrim watched her with a queer look in his eyes, waiting politely for her to finish before he began to speak. "I'm here with a… proposition for you."

Canisp looked up and drew back warily, licking her lips. "What kind of _proposition?_"

"It's a rare opportunity, something that's never been done before." Maugrim's face looked open and eager, and he seemed very proud of himself. "The Queen has given me permission to offer to let you come back to the Secret Police with me."

"Let me?" Canisp exclaimed. "_Let _me? You're _joking,_ you've gone mad… Why would I—Why would _any_ she-wolf willingly—If you want to drag me _there_ you'll do it in chains or over my dead body!"

Maugrim looked startled at her reaction. "No, Canisp, it's not like that! You wouldn't be a _captive_. You're too good for that." He stood up and took a step forward, frowning when she leapt back. His tone turned soothing. "You would be safe, with me. My mate, if she'd have me, would have full rights. I could give you rank in a year. I've told my Queen and Captain enough about you that they're willing to let a she-wolf join the Secret…the Vereor, for the first time. It's a great honor!"

"A great honor, my left hind _foot_. Why would I _want_ to join the Vereor? I'm not serving the White _Witch_," she growled, putting a careful emphasis on the title.

Maugrim grinned cockily, ignoring the epithet. "I'm not enough?" At the look she gave him, he quickly added, "We'd have our own quarters—no more sleeping in the snow, and you'd be off-limits to the others. You could train a runner of your own once you got rank, and our pups would be given _opportunities_, not like out here. Besides that, the Vereor hunt when we choose, every day if you like, and what you catch you get to keep for yourself. Of course, we share larger game, but only if we want to. Quite a perk, eh?"

Canisp frowned, trying not to cringe at the images evoked by the words _our pups_. "That's not possible. How can you hunt that often? The Wild is at least a full day's journey, and then there's the actual hunt, and a day to get back…"

"We don't go to the Western Wild."

"Then how can you possibly hunt at all? You'd never be able to find enough game! All the animals around here are…" Suddenly, a horrible truth dawned on her, and she finished the sentence in a croak. "Talking Beasts…" Maugrim looked more amused than ever.

"You're killing…you _eat_…" She was too shocked to finish her sentence.

Maugrim's grin widened. "Why do you think we're all so big?"

A new, intense horror was rising in Canisp now. "That rabbit I ate… it _wasn't_…"

His smirk said it all.

"Oh, _Aslan_…"Canisp staggered to the edge of the clearing and threw up in the bushes.

Maugrim appeared at her side, sighing. "I thought you'd react like this at first. But now think about it, Canisp. It's not like you've never hunted before. I've seen you bring down countless creatures."

"Not Talking ones."

"You act like there's a difference! They're prey. I don't see why you're any more upset over _that _Rabbit than the countless others you've eaten. You didn't see any difference when you were eating it; you couldn't even tell. Why should the hunt be any different?"

Canisp was silent for a time. Finally, she said, "We're hunters. We have to kill to survive. The other prey I've eaten weren't... _beings, _they-"

"Did they know that?" The question confused Canisp, and before she could think of something to say, Maugrim continued, "Prey is prey. As you so wisely said, we have to eat to survive. And you needn't sound so superior; you enjoy the hunt as much as anyone."

"I don't _enjoy_ taking lives! It's necessary, that's all!"

Maugrim spoke again, and his voice was low and earnest. "You know that's a lie, Canisp. You've felt it. We both have."

"Felt what?" she asked, and her voice quivered slightly.

"The bloodlust," he breathed. "The power. The raw, boundless energy that could let you slay an army. That sense that lets you feel every muscle and sinew in your body as you leap at your prey's throat. You know it. I've seen you hunt; I've seen the bloodlust in your eyes…" He frowned slightly, as if confused. "But then…you _fight_ it. You reject it. You push it away. _Why_ do you resist?" he asked, and although his voice was scarcely more than a whisper, it burned with a wild, barely controlled energy. "Why do you reject a part of yourself? The bloodlust is as much a part of you as your fur. Don't resist it," he whispered. His breath tickled her ear, and she shivered.

"Just give in. Give in to it, give into the _power_ it gives you. Bloodlust _is_ power, while fear makes you weak. Come back with me! I can show you how to use it. I can show you power you can't imagine, and you would never be afraid again. What would you have to fear?" he asked in a hushed, intense whisper, circling her. "The Vereor? Within a year you could lead it. The White Witch? She would feed you out of her hand. You wouldn't need to fear me, either—I know you do, I understand, but there's no _need_ anymore; we'll run side-by-side, bathing our muzzles and warming our throats with the blood of any creature too weak to escape us." He paused behind her, and his voice dropped again. "And there are other forms of lust I could show you, other kinds of power you needn't fear. Just give in to it. Don't resist. Give in…just give in…"

As he spoke, his forepaws slid beneath her wings and came to rest on her shoulders. His body molded to hers, and she felt him slipping up beneath her…

Her horrified trance shattered as she whirled to bite him. He had anticipated the move, however, and reared back at the last second. Her momentum carried her too far; she overbalanced, fell to her side, and, before she could leap to her feet, Maugrim's shaggy fur enveloped her. His thick forelegs were on either side of her, holding her in place; she tried to scramble away but his weight held her down, forcing her back to her belly; his breathing was ragged in her ear. She tried madly to bite him, but her jaws snapped shut on nothing as teeth bit into the scruff of her neck, holding her in place, and through her panic she barely heard the furious bark that split the clearing.

The air above her exploded in a confusion of snarls and fur and flashing teeth. There was a yelp, a streak of scarlet, and suddenly Maugrim was gone. Standing protectively over her, head down and forelegs braced, was a very different Wolf. He was smaller than Maugrim, but his stance was bolder, more courageous. His fur was thick, smooth, and the color of graphite.

"Are you all right?" Thor asked, his voice filled with concern.

"I…" She was still in shock, too confused to form a coherent sentence. Thor could see it, and his dark, gentle eyes softened in sympathy at the fear in her gold ones.

"Come on," he said kindly, gently brushing his muzzle against hers. "Let's get back to the others."

"She's coming with me," Maugrim growled. "By order of the Queen!" Thor barely spared him a glance, and when Canisp's eyes flicked over to Maugrim, she was surprised to see that there was a deep rip on his left front leg; it seemed unable to support his weight as he growled with increasing intensity at the two subordinates. When Thor bent down to help Canisp up, however, Maugrim's volatile temper exploded.

"Stay away from her! She's _mine_!"

Thor gave a sound halfway between a snarl and a howl of rage. Twisting away from Canisp, he planted his forepaws, raised his tail defiantly, and cried, "Come and take her, then!"

Canisp felt a new wave of terror, but this time it wasn't for herself. Brave as Thor was, Maugrim was nearly twice his size, and even injured he was more than a match for the dark gray subordinate. Why, then, was he moving back, almost… warily?

A movement near her head answered the question. Looking up, she saw Meya standing over her, her lips pulled back over her teeth. More movements drew her eyes, and her heart flooded with love and gratitude as first Jenga, then Firebird joined her, ears folded back and murder in their eyes. Finally, Mercury stepped out of the undergrowth to stand at Firebird's side, and gave a low growl of warning.

Maugrim snarled with frustration. "This isn't over, changeling," he growled. "You have no idea what's in store for you. Queen Jadis _will_ have you, and I'll make you wish you'd submitted to me when you had the chance. It won't be offered again."

All five of the wolves made involuntary movements forward, and Maugrim could do nothing but snarl before he turned and ran into the trees, his speed reduced only slightly by his hurt leg.

For several moments, no one moved. Canisp realized she was shaking, and that it had nothing to do with the cold. Her breath was fast and uneven, her limbs twitching. But then Thor lowered his head and said quietly, "It's over, Canisp. He's gone. Everything's going to be okay."

And, looking into his eyes, she believed him.


	7. Interruptions

**A/N:** Breathe. There's good in the world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for.

**Chapter 7-Interruptions**

Early morning in Narnia was always beautiful, but Canisp had never before realized just how lovely it really was. The pale, early-morning light glittered gently off the new-fallen snow and made the glassy icicles glow with mystical pinks and oranges. The bare Trees were black silhouettes against the lovingly painted sky, and the Birds were just beginning to wake, singing softly to one another.

Of course, the graphite-colored wolf at her side contributed greatly to her sense of well-being. After the confrontation with Maugrim two weeks before, something had changed in the relationships of the little group of friends. Jenga, for one, had finally stopped glaring at Mercury whenever he came within three feet of her sister. In fact, she had walked up to him one day, out of the blue, and grudgingly admitted,

"I guess you're all right. You risked your life for Canisp. And I suppose…" She paused, looking like she was about to bite into a fish gone sour. "I _suppose_ you're good… you're not _bad_ for Firebird. You'll take care of her, and I guess…well, I guess I can see why she likes you, even if I don't." With that glowing commendation, she had added "You'd better not prove me wrong!" and stalked off.

The lovers in question were asleep a few yards away, in a relatively snow-free spot under a spreading Pine. Each had their head resting on the other's back. As Canisp watched them, a small clump of snow fell out of the tree and onto Mercury's nose. His nose twitched and he snorted in his sleep, but he didn't wake up.

A low, quiet chuckle to her left made Canisp look around. Thor was awake, and had evidently noticed the snowdrop. His eyes met hers for the barest fraction of a second before he politely refocused on her shoulder. "You're awake," he whispered.

Canisp's eyes widened. "I am?" she whispered back.

Thor laughed quietly and cuffed her lightly with his muzzle. "You're so sarcastic in the mornings."

"Thank you."

"Good morning to you, too." He hesitated for a moment, and then quickly licked behind her ear. She blinked, surprised, then smiled and rested her head on his paws.

Canisp didn't quite know how to describe what had changed between her and Thor. She supposed, if she wanted to be poetic, she would say it had blossomed into something more. But this didn't quite seem to be the correct description. Nor did it fit into the other traditional description of an invisible barrier falling away. It was more as if they had suddenly realized that there _was_ no barrier, and never had been.

By the Lion, she had it bad. Well, as long as she was clearly not in her right mind…

"Thor?" she murmured, lifting her head off his paws. For a moment, she tucked her head under his, eyes closed, but then she pulled back so she could look him in the eye. For some reason, he didn't mind eye contact when _she_ initiated it. She took a deep breath, opened her mouth…

And had it promptly filled with a large amount of snow.

Spluttering and blinking snow out of her eyes, she looked blindly for her assailant.

"Jenga!" said Thor. "What in the name of-"

"Rise and shine, lovebirds!" sang the reddish wolf. She spun around and tugged on a low branch of Firebird and Mercury's tree, sending a cascade of snow tumbling onto them. "You, too, Meya," she added as an afterthought.

"I hate you," muttered Firebird, picking her way gingerly out from under her tree.

"With a vengeance," agreed Canisp.

Meya, who like Mercury and Firebird had taken shelter under a low-branched Pine, stretched leisurely and yawned. She stepped out into the world with great dignity, carefully pushing a branch out of her way.

The movement dislodged a great deal of snow on the upper branches, which fell on her with a muffled _whump. _

"It snowed again last night," she announced serenely, which made the others laugh.

"So, Jenga," said Mercury, shaking snow out of his fur. "Why exactly are we awake?"

"I'm going to go out on a limb and say it's because she woke us up," muttered Firebird, who was not a morning person.

"Our hunting release only lasts until tonight," Jenga reminded them. "And I for one don't feel like being chewed out by a dominant for cutting it too close. I've never lead a hunting party before!"

Unfortunately, she had a valid point; a hunting release lasted eight days, and today was the eighth. And so the six wolves made their way back to the home pack.

Thanks to Jenga's wake-up call, they were back before the sun had fully risen. They checked in with Kosovar (Jenga ducked behind Firebird and kept her face hidden) and hurriedly rejoined the subordinates. Meya immediately hurried over to a young snow-laden Cherry Tree that looked about to snap from the weight and began knocking snow off the branches. She was in such a hurry that she failed to notice the young runner curled up under said tree, and ended up dumping a great deal of snow on his head. He leapt to his feet and, being an adolescent male, promptly retaliated by flinging snow at the first person he saw.

Mercury and Firebird, who had been innocently sitting nearby, were thus involuntarily entered into an impromptu snowball war. Jenga laughed and, looking happier than she had in ages, rushed in to help them.

A word on Narnian snowball fights: They are truly something to see. In the old days, they could last for up to a week, until there was no snow left on the ground in all of Narnia. All the creatures—Fauns, Dwarves, Talking Beasts, even the Kings and Queens—would eventually join in the anarchy. Of course, since the White Witch had taken over, there was much less enjoyment taken from snow, but that didn't mean that a snowball skirmish didn't break out here or there once in a while. The Wolves, devoid of hands, kicked snow in each others' faces and took running slides to throw up tidal waves of the stuff; the Dryads, once they'd woken, threw snowballs. Incredibly, in all the joyous confusion of flying snow, not one snowball hit Meya, who had now moved on to a young Willow. This miracle probably had something to do with the curious tendency of swaying twigs to flick out randomly into the path of any incoming snow, knocking it harmlessly away whenever it approached a certain cinnamon-striped she-wolf.

Meya was dearly loved by more than just Canisp.

Thor and Canisp had guarded Mercury and Firebird's backs for a while, but a rush of enthusiastic youngsters had finally forced them to make a tactical retreat to the far side of a nearby hill, where the only danger was in sticking one's head over the top. Snowballs still flew over their heads from time to time, but they were relatively safe.

Canisp sighed. "It's going to take _forever_ to get my feathers dry," she lamented, beating her wings experimentally.

An expertly-packed snowball soared majestically over the crest of the hill and landed squarely on her forehead.

Thor laughed. Canisp shook the snow out of her eyes and snorted a few times to clear her nostrils, and he laughed more. "That one Pine was being a bit overenthusiastic, I think," he mused.

"How could you tell who was throwing which snowball?" asked Canisp incredulously. "I couldn't see a thing!"

Thor tried and failed not to smile. "You have a twig in your fur," he explained, nudging the small branch off her back. She laughed and lightly licked his cheek. He blinked, then grinned and flopped down into the snow. He rolled over a few times, then righted himself and sneezed.

Canisp rolled her eyes good-naturedly and lay down next to him. Thor's head was resting on his paws, and she rested her head on hers as well. Thor met her smiling eyes, and for once he didn't look away.


	8. Luck

**Chapter 8-Luck**

Canisp closed her eyes, leaning into Thor's side. It was a relief to finally get a chance to _rest_; they had been on the move for over a week, after all. Thor seemed to share the sentiment. He placed his head on the snowy earth and sighed happily. Canisp smiled, her eyes still closed, and whispered, "I-"

She never finished her sentence, interrupted by a faint whisper. The whisper had begun in the East, when a young Dryad shuffled her branches and sent the message rustling through the forest. It passed to an old Oak, to a lovely Willow, to a proud Redwood, and so on, until every Tree in Narnia had it. It spread at the speed of thought, centering around two groups of Wolves. The first group assumed that a sudden breeze had stirred the branches, and ignored it. But the second group, who paid more attention, heard the message in the wind.

_The Vereor are coming._

For a moment, everyone froze. It wouldn't have surprised them if the snowballs had stopped in midair.

* * *

Lantern Waste was the perfect place to lose a pursuer. The trees were thick, the terrain filled with gullies and hills that a clever wolf could use to remain out of sight. Most of the Dryads were friendly.

That was the only reason Meya was still alive. Running flat-out, on smooth terrain, she wouldn't have a prayer. But she _knew_ this area. She kept her wits about her when others ran madly in all directions. Whenever that bone-chilling whisper rustled through the Trees, she reminded herself of that. _You can do this,_ she told herself. _They've never caught you before. Why should today be any different?_ Deep down, though, she knew she'd been lucky.

And she knew that, one day, her luck would run out.

* * *

Canisp threw herself into a full skid, crouching low to the ice, letting her momentum carry her across the little river. It was hardly more than a glorified stream, and probably didn't deserve her worry, but she had seen too many she-wolves try to run on ice, fall, and end up slipping and sliding and inching their way toward the other side. Invariably, the Vereor caught them first.

As she slid across the ice, she glanced up, hoping that the river would mean a break in the trees. No, there was still a network of branches laced overhead, blocking her escape.

Why were there so many _trees_ in this forest?

No matter. If she couldn't fly, she could run, she _must _run, and so she ran. She had always been fast. She was known for it. As the thought crossed her mind, her thoughts flashed protectively to a Wolf who was not fast at all. She growled and forced herself to focus. She couldn't afford to let her mind wander. It had to be focused on one thing: _escape._ Meya would be fine. She always was. She was smarter than the entire Vereor put together.

She would be _fine_, Canisp told herself sternly.

She would be fine.

* * *

Meya was not fine.

Somehow, she had started off running in the wrong direction. She had no idea what had happened; she just remembered thinking that Canisp was on the other side of the hill, and she'd run over to her but by the time she got there Canisp was gone and she'd lost precious time.

She knew better. Canisp would find _her_, that's what always happened. She _knew_ better…

She heard the sounds of frantically pounding paws in the surrounding woods, but she didn't know where she was. And then she heard the unmistakable din of a pack of unnaturally large wolves moving with no care for who might hear them.

They were too close, far too close. She couldn't run from them; they would catch her easily, run her to ground like a rabbit…

_Run to ground…_

That was it. She hurried over to the exposed roots of a Tree overhanging a tiny stream. She tucked herself carefully into the tangled roots, trying to make herself as tiny as possible.

The Vereor appeared in her limited line of vision. They were grinning cruelly, enjoying their hunt and relishing the sounds of panic in the distance. Meya held her breath, hoping to hide the smoky trail of vapor that would give her away. The first wolf—Ferinus—passed her hiding spot. Then the second. Then the third.

They were almost past. She was almost safe.

_Almost_.

The last wolf saw her. His eyes met hers, and his twisted grin widened.

"Hey, Ferinus," he said. "I think you missed something." The other Wolves looked around, and barked with laughter to see her huddled in the roots.

Something. To them, Meya was a _thing_.

"Well, well, well," drawled Maugrim, swaggering forward. "If it isn't loyal little Meya, the brave one. Come down a bit in the world, haven't you?"

"Bite me," Meya snapped. Then she bolted.

* * *

Lantern Waste was the perfect place to lose a pursuer. The trees were thick, the terrain filled with gullies and hills that a clever wolf could use to remain out of sight. Most of the Dryads were friendly.

But not all of them.

There was a Rowan tree. He stood alone; no other Trees would grow near him. It was appropriate; he had been the first Tree to join the White Witch.

The Rowan thought himself very clever. Actually, that is an understatement. He considered himself the fountain of eternal wisdom, and a great favorite of the Queen. He was also scornful of the Vereor. He thought they were only an honor guard, impressive-looking to be sure, but really just a pack of hunting hounds to be thrown a bone every so often. He had no doubt that _he_ was the Queen's most valuable asset.

As he was thinking about himself (his favorite pastime), he heard a faint chorus of deep barks in the distance, followed by a terrified, yelping sort of howl.

_Think of the devils_, thought the Rowan. He could just barely hear the sound of crashing undergrowth, coming ever so slowly closer. The whining pups couldn't do anything right, he thought with satisfaction, not even catch one measly she-wolf. His gloating pleasure increased when he realized that the chase would come right by him.

Suddenly a smallish she-wolf shot over the crest of a hill. Her sides were heaving and, despite the cold, she was panting with heat. This was a Wolf who was obviously not meant for extended sprinting. He had seen her before; she had remarkable endurance at low speed, but running like this from the proverbial hounds of hell was clearly too much for her.

_Poor little thing,_ he thought dispassionately._ Looks about to drop dead from exhaustion. I should put her out of her misery._ And so, when the frantic Meya galloped past the tree, she felt a thick root wrap tightly around her ankle and tug, jerking her off her feet. The root let go immediately, and Meya's heart nearly stopped when she saw why. His work was done; the split-second delay had been all that was needed.

She was surrounded by abnormally huge wolves, all of whom were grinning, most of whom were laughing cruelly. She threw back her head and gave a tortured howl of desolation.

It looked like her luck had run out, after all.

* * *

Canisp was running for her life. As dramatic as that sounds, it was actually quite peaceful. There was no sound except for measured breathing and crunching snow and the snap of the occasional twig.

And then a terrified howl split the air.

It was far too familiar.

"Meya," breathed Canisp, skidding to a stop. Then she whirled around and raced through the trees, running, not for her life now, but for something far more precious.

**A/N:** Raise your hand if you secretly ship Canisp and Meya. I'm the author. I /know/ they have nothing but the deepest of all possible platonic loves, especially since I actually write Canisp as asexual. And I still secretly kinda ship them. They should just adopt all of the children and grow old and yell at those damn kids to get off their lawn.


	9. Sacrifice

**Chapter 9-Sacrifice**

Meya struggled to her feet, her legs trembling. She had never been a fighting personality, but by the Lion, she wasn't going down like this. The chase had drained her, however; it was all she could do to stay on her feet. What was more, the exertion had put too much strain on the old Minotaur wound in her left shoulder. The muscle twinged painfully when she put weight on it, so she shifted. She appeared at a casual glance to be standing normally, but really she was supporting her weight on her good three legs. The last thing she wanted was to appear weak and helpless.

Which, of course, she was. She just didn't want to look it.

"We meet again," said the wolf that had first spotted Meya. Maugrim shot him a look, and the other wolf backed down immediately. Meya could clearly see the dynamics of the twisted pack. Ferinus, while technically the leader, was clearly just a figurehead. _Maugrim_ was in charge. And he was not about to let anyone interrupt this moment of triumph.

"Now," said Maugrim, "I know you, of all people, will realize the futility of resistance. You know not to give me any more reasons to be _angry_, don't you? That's wisdom, Meya. Ophelia learned it the hard way last year." Meya shivered at the amusement in his voice. "Then again, feel free to follow in her footsteps—all three of them. After all, you won't really need all four legs where you're going." One of the Vereor wolves growled, and there was cruel pleasure in it.

Meya tensed and gave the barest hint of a snarl. She hadn't known Ophelia well, but she had _known_ her. The lovely white wolf had had a mate and a family. But those things didn't matter to the Vereor.

At the sound of her growl, the huge gray wolves shifted forward eagerly. Their eyes were trained expectantly on Maugrim, reinforcing Meya's low opinion of Ferinus' authority. A shudder ran down Meya's spine, and she seemed to deflate. Her raised hackles lowered slowly, and the fight seemed to leave her altogether. "Come along, now," said Maugrim, almost kindly, and Meya raised her foot to step forward.

There was a sudden rushing sound, a flash of white, and something large and furry shot over her head, skidding slightly as it landed in the snow. Canisp backed up so that her tail brushed Meya's shoulder reassuringly, bared her teeth, and growled "_You're not taking her."_

* * *

Canisp snarled furiously, her eyes locked on Maugrim's—a direct challenge. "You touch her, you die." There was no hint of bluff on her face.

"How touching." Maugrim sounded bored, but his eyes were alight with pleasure. "But as you can see, there are…fifteen…seventeen of us, and one…one…well, one of you." He smiled and lowered his voice, dripping with satisfaction. "So get out of our way."

Canisp spread her front legs and planted herself more securely into a fighting stance. "You're not taking her," she repeated darkly.

Ferinus spoke for the first time. His voice was deep, but hoarse. "Will you be dying to try and stop us?"

There was complete silence in the clearing, apart from Meya's labored breathing. As had happened to her sister, Canisp's ferocity seemed to drain out of her as she glanced at the huge wolves on either side of her. Her head drooped.

For the first time in her life, Meya needed her, and there was nothing she could do.

_Or was there?_

She couldn't fight for her sister. That much was obvious. There was no way she could win.

But that didn't mean she couldn't save her.

A cold, hard knot of dread formed in her stomach, but she fought to ignore it. She had to do this. She had to be strong now, as brave as Meya fighting a Minotaur on her own, or afterwards, trudging halfway across Narnia on a broken leg.

She closed her eyes. "All right, Maugrim," she said quietly. "You win. It's what you've wanted all along, isn't it? Some way to force me to submit? Well, you've got it. Just leave Meya out of this. Your fight is with me."

Maugrim's eyes gleamed. He couldn't have looked more astonished—or more pleased-if the White Witch herself had crowned him Supreme Ruler of the Universe. "You're offering to take her place?"

Canisp kept her eyes trained on the ground. "Yes," she whispered.

A wide, cruel smile crept along his muzzle. "I knew you'd warm up to me. Shame, really, that you didn't make this decision two months ago. It would have been _much _more pleasant. For you, at least." Canisp couldn't hold back a shudder. "So, just to make it formal…" Maugrim was truly enjoying himself. "Will you take your friend's place and accompany the Secret Police back to the Palace _without resistance_?"

Canisp almost lost her nerve. She steeled herself, however, and opened her mouth to deliver her response.

"No."

Canisp looked around in shock.

_"What?"_ said Maugrim and Canisp in unison.

"No," Meya repeated. She stood straight and tall, the picture of decision. She looked at Ferinus. "You take the first she-wolf you catch. That's the law. No releases. No substitutes. Otherwise you would have let Calliope take Ophelia's place."

Maugrim looked murderous. Meya felt a twinge of fear when she remembered that with the Vereor, that was a quite literal description. Ferinus, however, merely blinked slowly and said, "That is correct. It does not matter how much you want the other, Maugrim," he added, a bit of relish entering his voice. "We do not make exceptions. And we have spent enough time on this. Let us be gone, and the she-wolf with us."

Maugrim snarled, but obeyed. "Move, then, fool," he spat at Meya. She flinched and drew back as the Vereor converged on her.

"Meya!" hissed Canisp as the Wolves created a solid ring around the two. "What are you _thinking_?"

Meya looked her full in the face, ancient sadness in her eyes. "If our positions were reversed," she said quietly, "would you let me sacrifice myself for you?"

Canisp wanted to say yes. She wanted to with every fiber of her being, but she couldn't lie to Meya.

Meya could see this. She seemed about to say more, but the Vereor were growing impatient, shoving her roughly into the forest. She didn't fight them, but at the edge of the clearing she stopped short and said, "Canisp?"

The changeling looked up, terror in her eyes. Meya swallowed and said, "It takes real courage to sacrifice yourself for someone. But… sometimes it takes more to let someone sacrifice themselves for you." A single tear rolled down her cheek. "I never had your courage, Canisp," she choked. One of the Vereor rolled his eyes and nipped at her, and she turned away and disappeared into the trees.

Canisp stood frozen in the trees, feeling like she was being torn limb from limb. She struggled in vain to keep the pain at bay. She could do nothing to dispel the agony, nothing to escape it. She wanted to howl, to release some of the emotion that was threatening to rip her apart, but her lungs were empty and she wasn't sure how to fill them. She wanted to sink her teeth into something and rip it to pieces until she didn't feel quite so powerless, but her muscles seemed locked in place. She wanted to sob, but the agony was too great to be banished so easily.

Once, when she was five years old, she had wandered into a patch of wolfsbane. She had thought it the worst pain imaginable. She had been wrong.

No one could possibly survive this kind of pain, it would surely kill her, she had to get _away_…

Struggling to suppress the scream building in her throat, she whirled around and shot through the trees. She ran as fast as she could, desperation giving her strength. Even when she reached gaps in the trees, she didn't fly. Flight may have brought its own sense of release, but it was too quiet in the air, too peaceful for her racing thoughts. She needed to _run_, to feel the steady burn in her lungs and legs, the solid earth beneath her flying paws.

But as fast as she ran, memories were faster. Meya, curling beside her, tucking her head trustingly beneath Canisp's wing; Meya nudging a piece of meat toward her, a gentle smile on her face; Meya, lying peacefully beside a small campfire that Canisp had made on one of those bitterly cold nights, quietly requesting songs as her dearest friend played the pipes; she had always loved the Fire Dance-

BANG.

Canisp staggered back, dazed. She had run into a Tree. "Watch it," the Dryad muttered. Canisp blinked and shook her head weakly, waiting for the world to stop tilting. When it did, she launched herself back into the forest.

The memories came more quickly now, perhaps jogged by the blow to the head. They were darker, as well; Meya, shaking with silent sobs, her head buried in Canisp's shoulder. "They almost got me," she whispered. "They almost got me." Meya, her fur matted with blood, her leg broken, asking if Firebird was all right; Meya, her face transformed by fear, whispering, "I never had your courage…"

_But you did!_ Canisp felt like screaming. _You had ten times my courage! It should have been me! How many times did I promise I would protect you? It should have been _me!

Then Canisp stopped fighting. She let the memories wash over her, let the agony crush her, and let it all out in a tortured howl.

All that long night, she poured out her misery to the unfeeling stars, her cries shifting from low, mournful keening to barely audible whimpers to haunted cries of rage, searing howls that were more like screams of pain, and back again.

Sometime during the night, she became dimly aware that she was no longer alone. A dark shape sat at her left flank; for a moment, Canisp honestly thought it was the shadow of Death. Then she realized it was Thor.

She had no idea how long he had been there, sitting quietly beside her. He said nothing, made no move to comfort her, and she loved him for it. She thought there could be no truer sign of love than this, to simply be with her and let her mourn. If he had told her everything would be okay, or tried to reassure her, he would have made it worse (_because it wasn't okay, it was so horribly far from okay, and nothing would ever be the same again…) _ But he did none of that. He was simply there, and that was enough.

Gradually, the sharp, ripping pain receded slightly, dimmed to a dull ache. Her screaming howls were few and far between. Eventually they faded altogether.

Thor stood up. For the first time, she noticed that his eyes were filled with tears. He moved in front of her, looking into her eyes, then nuzzled her gently and whispered, "I'm here."

Something broke inside Canisp, a final barrier came crashing down, and she sobbed wildly into his shoulder as the crescent moon began her slow descent into the Western Wild.

**A/N:** Oh, I'm sorry, did you _want_ your souls? Oops.


	10. Courage

**Chapter 10-Courage**

And yet, life went on. Thor and Canisp found their way back to the home pack (or rather, Thor found his way back with Canisp stumbling blindly in his wake) just after daybreak. Not even Ignavus had the heart to punish them for leaving without permission; the whole pack had heard Canisp' cries.

Canisp's forehead hurt.

She walked slowly over to where Jenga, Firebird and Mercury lay. The three wolves were watching her anxiously; as if she were made of glass and they were afraid she might shatter. Canisp felt a dim pang of guilt at the worry in their faces. She could only imagine how worried her family must have been last night.

Belatedly, she realized that the Wolves weren't alone. A Faun with neatly trimmed reddish-brown fur and a tan sweater, her uncombed chestnut hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, knelt between Jenga and Mercury, watching Canisp with concern. Govinia had heard her friend's lament.

Wordlessly, the Faun passed Canisp a low wooden bowl filled with pink-tinged, sparkling liquid. Then she got to her feet, paused for a moment to stroke Canisp's head, and strode determinedly away.

Canisp mindlessly drank the potion. Even though the liquid itself was cold, she felt a gentle warming sensation flow through her body. Feeling returned, almost painfully, to toes she hadn't realized were numb. Her aching forehead was muted. A spark seemed to go off in her brain, heightening her senses and dispelling some of the dull mindlessness. Looking around, she saw Govinia arguing animatedly with one of the dominants. His name was Aram, and for a dominant he was a downright decent wolf, devoted to his mate and family. He looked at Canisp with concern, and then turned back to Govinia. He seemed to be apologizing. She pleaded. He glanced around at the other dominants, and seemed to give in. She smiled gratefully and returned to the wolves.

"What was that all about?" asked Jenga. Govinia spoke quietly in her ear.

"The dominants will never go for it," Jenga warned.

"It's all been cleared," Govinia assured her. Turning to Canisp, she said gently, "Come on, Canisp. You're coming to my place for a little while."

Canisp didn't ask anything. Tiny things like this didn't seem important right now. She followed Govinia to her cave.

That day always seemed like a blur. It blended together—warm fire, soft cushions, poinsettia tea, blankets tucked around her and little Tumnus hopping around like a mountain goat, skipping happily at his mother's heels. When he spoke to Canisp, however, he was very quiet, almost calm. He didn't know what was wrong, of course—he was just over a year old, after all. But he knew the "bird puppy" was sad, and his mummy had told him that she had lost someone very special to her. He patted her head and said sweetly, "Don't be sad, puppy. Here, you can have some of my cake." He had proceeded to split a small tea cake with her. Then the little Faun cuddled close to Canisp, petting her neck and singing little songs until he fell asleep.

Canisp was safe, and warm, and more comfortable than she had been in years, but she couldn't enjoy it. It wasn't simply because of grief; she wasn't really sure _what_ it was. Everything seemed distant to her, like a dream.

That night, Typhis read Tumnus a story from a large red book called _Men, Monks, and Gamekeepers: A Study in Popular Legend._ It was a favorite of Canisp's: it told the story of the strange creature named Brandy who had grown the great Lamp-Post, and the legendary Gold and Silver Trees of old.

"Brandy," he said dramaically, "was of a race called the Neevils. They came to Narnia on the First Day, from a strange land where there were no Talking Beasts or Waking Trees or any trees at all. It was made all of stone and inhabited by only dumb beasts and other Neevils."

"Where'd they go, dad?" Tumnus asked, awestruck, and Typhis, smiling, continued the tale.

But even though Typhis told the story exceptionally well, Canisp couldn't get involved in it. As grateful as she was to Govinia and her family, she suddenly wished she could leave.

The next day was worse because it was better. Govinia and Typhis joked and laughed with one another, but when they spoke to Canisp they were gentle and tender. Only Tumnus was cheerful when he addressed her. He was playing with little wooden figures on the floor, and when he saw the "puppy" watching him, he began to tell her all about his little game. He made no sense whatsoever, but Canisp found his lighthearted chatter immensely comforting. Eventually, however, Govinia put him down for his daily nap.

"I hope he wasn't bothering you," she said softly. "He doesn't understand, you know."

"I don't mind," said Canisp. "Govinia…How long am I staying here?" She didn't want to sound ungrateful, but it was a question that had been bothering her.

Govinia smiled sadly and said, "As long as you need to. You can go back when you're…ready."

Canisp nodded, then curled up and went to sleep.

That night, Govinia was laying awake, thinking about her friend, when she heard, quite clearly, the sound of the cave door opening slowly. Slipping out of bed, she stole silently into the front room, in time to see a bushy white tail disappearing out the door.

For a moment, Govinia assumed Canisp was simply taking a walk to clear her mind. Then she remembered Calliope. She had been the sister of Ophelia, the white wolf who had been taken by the Vereor last year. Calliope had desperately pleaded to take her sister's place and been denied.

Two days later, they had found her body at the foot of the Great Cataract, as broken as her heart.

Govinia hurried after Canisp. She stayed a good distance away, however. She wanted to make sure the changeling was safe, but if Canisp really was just taking a walk, she wouldn't welcome the audience.

Eventually, they reached the large clearing the home pack generally slept in. As Canisp reached the edge of the trees, she paused, taking a deep breath. Then, moving slowly so as not to wake anyone, she made her way over to where her family was sleeping. She lay down carefully beside Thor, her face turned toward the stars.

At that moment, Govinia understood. She could see it in her friend's eyes as she gazed at the sky. Canisp didn't want special treatment, and she certainly didn't want pity. She wanted the wind at her back and the sun on her wings and solid earth beneath her paws.

Suddenly, Govinia knew, without knowing how she knew it, that the constellation Canisp was watching was the Centaur: the symbol of courage.

Govinia smiled, and turned to go home.

Canisp was going to be all right.

**A/N:** Short? Yes. It's the deep breath before the plunge.


	11. Spark

**Chapter 11-Spark**

"Canisp!"

"Go away."

"Are you asleep?"

"Yes."

"Canisp! This is important!"

"Is the forest on fire?"

"Well… no, but-"

"Then go away, Jenga."

"It's the Vereor!"

That got Canisp's attention. She was on her feet and poised to launch herself into the forest before her brain had fully comprehended Jenga's words. "_What_?" she exclaimed. "That's impossible! They did a sweep not three days ago!"

"They're not here," said Jenga swiftly. "Calm down. There's nothing wrong."

"But you said...the Vereor…"

"Yes. It's…we just found out…" For the first time, Canisp realized Jenga was quivering, not with fear, but with excitement.

"Spit it out, Jenga! What's going on?" Canisp didn't think she could handle any more drama or suspense.

"Ferinus has been killed!" said Jenga in an intense whisper.

"_What?_" cried Canisp.

"_Shhh!_" hissed Jenga, glancing nervously over at the dominants. They seemed restless and irritable this morning.

"How do you know?" demanded Canisp, in a much quieter voice.

"Sallowpad the Raven," murmured Thor from Canisp's left. "There are a lot of Ravens who stick around the Palace to keep an eye on things, you know. He saw it happen. He won't tell us much, though. Not until you talk to him."

"Why me? And who killed Ferinus? Maugrim?" It seemed a fair guess. After the way Ferinus had pulled rank on Maugrim, it only made sense to assume an _accident_ would be quickly arranged.

"Well…no," said Jenga, suddenly seeming hesitant. "The rumor is…the rumor is that it was _Meya._"

Canisp stared at her. Before she could say anything, however, a young Raven—presumably Sallowpad—fluttered down from the sky and perched on a branch above her head. He peered quizzically at Canisp with one sharp eye, then leapt off his branch and flew over the forest. It was clear he wanted her to follow him, but as she spread her wings and prepared to fly, an unpleasant voice rang out.

"Where do you think you're going?" barked Ignavus. "No one leaves the pack today without permission. And you, scavenger!" he snapped at Sallowpad. "Clear out!" Then he turned and stalked away.

Canisp watched him go, greatly irritated. She was debating whether to try to sneak away or just make a break for it when she felt a gentle fluttering at her side. Looking down, she saw the young Raven pushing his way under her wing. Turning her body nonchalantly so that he was completely hidden from the dominants, she lay casually down. The rest of her family lay down as well, close enough that they could hear his whispers but not so close it looked suspicious. Sallowpad waited until they had settled down, then without preamble began his story.

Sallowpad, perched in a high Pine, shook his head as Meya was led away.

_It's a bad business,_ he thought. Meya was going quietly, but the Vereor wolves were heckling her mercilessly and she was visibly struggling against tears. She limped more and more heavily, favoring her left shoulder.

It wasn't long before the first tormented howl split the air.

Seemingly without thinking, Meya paused and tried to turn back. Sallowpad tensed as the Vereor converged on the little she-wolf, forcing her to keep walking. She seemed to panic suddenly, and it nearly became a fight until Bilanz, the Wolf who had first spotted her, met her with a charge and threw her off her feet. She was hustled along again, but now she kept glancing back, pausing. She winced and closed her eyes whenever one of Canisp's tortured howls reached her.

Sallowpad shook his head again. _A very bad business._ He cast the Fox in the next tree a pained look. _Isn't there anything we can do?_

Coeptis shook his head, clearly in as much pain as Sallowpad. _I'm sorry._

The Raven spread his wings and flew off, straight for the Palace.

He was going to be witness to his friend's death. He couldn't bear to watch her driven across Narnia like cattle, too.

As he shifted and fussed anxiously on the gate, they arrived. Meya glanced up and spotted him, and he gave a hoarse _caw. _It was the only greeting—and the only farewell—he dared give, and she acknowledged it, drew herself up proudly and gave the tiniest possible nod in his direction.

After turning Meya over to a hard-faced Dwarf holding a sword and a whip, the Vereor dispersed. Most went into the Palace, some went to the boundaries for guard duty, and some went hunting. ("As if you could call it 'hunting'" Canisp growled. "Murder's what it is.") The Dwarf doubled his whip up into a sort of choke collar and led Meya to a solid-looking wooden door set in the ground, rather like a cellar door. He forced her down a flight of stone steps and disappeared for a few minutes.

When he came up, he was alone. Sallowpad would warm himself by nights, years later, with fantasies of pecking out that Dwarf's eyes.

There was a lot of commotion that night. The Vereor, hearing Canisp's desperate cries, seemed concerned the other Wolves would try something. _As if,_ Sallowpad thought bitterly, _there was anything they could do. As if there was anything _we _could do. Or anyone. _Or perhaps that had nothing to do with it at all. Whatever it was, they seemed very busy, and they didn't get anywhere near the wooden door.

If they had, he would have killed them. At the very least, he would have tried.

The next day, they were presumably all asleep after being awake all night. Sallowpad saw only one member of the Vereor that night, as he pulled open the heavy wooden door and closed it behind him. Sallowpad heard a furious, yet frantic, bark, and then Thor, looking worriedly at Canisp, asked if they could skip this part, and Sallowpad willingly obliged.

The next day (yesterday, in other words, he added for Canisp's benefit) was business as usual for the Vereor—murder, sparring, racing exercises. And that night (last night, as Sallowpad stressed) was the night Ferinus had gone to pay a visit to Meya's cell.

Sallowpad had been too far away to reach the door before it closed. Even if he had been nearby, there was nothing he could have done.

Ferinus had been in the cell less than a minute when the door opened slightly and he came stumbling out. He took two steps, then collapsed, the snow around him slowly turning dark.

High above, perched on a tower spire, Sallowpad tensed. This was it.

If only the door hadn't swung closed behind Ferinus...

("Don't," said Thor. "You'd just have been killed.")

It was daybreak before they discovered the body. It didn't take long to figure out what had happened; the blood from Ferinus' torn throat left a thick trail, and Meya's muzzle was still stained with it. In less time than it takes to tell, one of the Wolves had run and fetched two Dwarves and an Ogre. The Dwarves spoke with Maugrim for a moment, then disappeared into the stone room and returned dragging Meya.

They questioned her. Sallowpad gave no detail beyond this, and none of the wolves asked for any. From what Sallowpad overheard the questioners shouting, they were trying to get Meya to confess to being part of a resistance. Eventually, however, they were forced to accept that she wasn't talking. Maugrim turned away in disgust and nodded to the Ogre. The foul creature raised his axe—

"All right! We get it!" hissed Firebird.

"I... I did hear her last words," said Sallowpad quietly, looking shaken.

Canisp met his eyes—eye, rather. Being a bird he had to look at her from the side. "What did she say?" she asked, with great effort keeping most of the tremble out of her voice.

Sallowpad lowered his voice so that even Canisp had to strain to hear.

"She saw me. In those last few moments, the last seconds she had, she met my eyes and said, _Tell them Narnia lives!'_" Sallowpad watched her expression warily, as if expecting something.

There was dead silence among the five wolves.

_Tell them Narnia lives._

The Vereor thought Meya was part of a resistance.

She had died rather than deny it.

**A/N:** Anyone who knows Sallowpad the Raven gets many many hugs from me.


	12. Alone

**Chapter 12-Alone**

"Aslan," breathed Firebird. "Meya was a rebel."

"She wasn't," croaked Sallowpad, still eyeing Canisp cautiously. "There are no rebels. That is, there is no _organized_ resistance. That you know of. Do you understand?"

"I think so," Canisp said slowly. "Could you explain that, please?"

"No," he replied curtly. "Not here. It's rather crowded for my taste." He inclined his head meaningfully at the dominants, and it took all of Canisp's self-control not to turn around. "As I said, there are no organized rebels. But if there _were_, and one wanted to join them, one might begin by being five hundred feet downriver from Beaversdam at noon after the night of the next full moon."

"The Beavers are-" began Firebird.

"That's not for you to know," replied Sallowpad cuttingly. "If, hypothetically of course, there _were_ rebels and you joined them, you might be told more." And without another word he flapped away.

* * *

In the end, Canisp went alone.

It was too much of a risk, she said, for _all_ of them to go up to Beaversdam. It would look unbelievably suspicious and probably end up getting the whole lot of them arrested. Thor agreed, but he stubbornly insisted on accompanying her. They had a furious, whispered argument on the subject that could quite possibly have become a fight had Aram not happened upon them and asked helpfully what the matter was.

This had scared Canisp half out of her wits. After all, she could hardly tell Aram, 'Oh, it's nothing. Thor just wants to come with me to be initiated into a mysterious group of rebels is all.' Kind as Aram was, he was a dominant for a reason, and they simply couldn't trust him.

Thor had come to the rescue, laughing lightheartedly and giving some plausible excuse that Canisp didn't hear because she was too busy panicking. They exchanged some other unimportant chitchat with the dominant, and excused themselves as quickly as possible.

"I have to go alone, Thor," Canisp had said again, and eventually he gave in.

Jenga, ever the loner, was disinclined to ally herself with strangers. At the same time, however, she felt that if there was a resistance, then by the Lion she wanted to be in the thick of it. She agreed, however, to let Canisp make the first move.

Firebird didn't want to join the rebels at all. She confessed this shamefacedly to her friends one day when they had gathered at the Great River. She hastily added, "It's not that I don't want to help, but…I have to think of other things now." If Wolves can blush, she did.

Canisp and Jenga looked at each other, their faces mirrors of confusion. Mercury, however, seemed to know exactly what she meant, as he smiled tenderly and moved to stand beside her.

"What in the Lion's name are you talking about?" asked Jenga with her usual delicacy.

Firebird ducked her head shyly. "Well, it's just I have to think about…" She trailed off.

"You have to think about…?" prompted Jenga.

Firebird tucked her head under Mercury's. "I have to think about…my pups," she muttered.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Jenga, naturally, broke it.

"_Firebird!_" she cried blissfully, leaping at her sister and licking her face. "You're…you're…" She gave a short howl of joy. "You're going to be a mother!"

Firebird looked up, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Well…that's the general idea, yes."

Canisp felt a swell of affection for the Wolves in front of her. Thor met her gaze and gave a low whine of happiness and longing, and she nuzzled up against his neck. Firebird was practically glowing, and Mercury was almost unrecognizable, he was so happy. The shadow of shame that had hung behind his eyes ever since the Minotaur attack had finally lifted. His tongue lolled out of his mouth in a huge lupine grin. If he had looked any prouder he would have been a Lion.

This only reinforced Canisp's conviction that she was making the right choice by going alone. Mercury was still willing to fight, and in fact eager; he felt he had even more to fight for now, and that he wanted his pups to live in a free Narnia.

The others shot him down before he could get this thought fully articulated. It was far too dangerous. "Firebird's pups," Jenga insisted, looking quite violent, "are _not_ growing up without a father. Don't you dare even _think_ about leaving my sister to raise a family all on her own." She then shocked all present by giving a wide grin and licking Mercury's cheek. "Congratulations," she said warmly. "I always knew you were perfect for each other." A moment later, she joined in the hysterical laughter her statement—which had somehow been made with a perfectly straight face—had engendered.

Mercury made another point a few days after the announcement. "You know," he mused, "It seemed like Sallowpad really wanted _you_ to come, not us."

And that was the main reason Canisp had to go alone. It was a reason she didn't mention to anyone, because if Thor thought of it he would never, ever let her out of his sight. There was always the chance—the very real chance—that this was all a trap for her. If that was the case, she didn't want to condemn any more of her loved ones.

So, on the day following the full moon, she exacted an ironclad promise from Thor that he would stay with the pack, and one each from Jenga, Mercury and Firebird that they wouldn't let him out of their sight for a second, because she didn't believe him.

"Don't let him follow me," she said. "If everything goes as planned, there's nothing to worry about, and if something goes wrong, there's nothing he could do." On that cheerful note, she glanced around, made sure she wasn't being watched, and slipped discreetly into the trees.

**A/N: **Ominous chapter title is ominous. This is no way foreshadowing anything. Nope. Also, yes, I'm a terrible person.


	13. Coeptis

**Chapter 13-Coeptis**

Canisp didn't like it.

She had been crouching behind a rotten log for what felt like hours, trying to take stock of the situation. She had made a wide aerial loop, so as to approach Beaversdam from the west; as the home pack was east, she assumed that was where a trap would be set. During her flight, she had seen no signs of an ambush, but that meant very little. If this _was_ a Vereor ambush, she knew she couldn't talk her way out; there was absolutely no excuse for her being so far west without permission.

_You can still turn back, you know, _said a tiny voice in the back of her head.

Canisp thought about that for a moment. Could she really turn back? Was that truly an option? Her head told her yes. She could leave now, turn around and leave the struggle to others. She could go back to Thor. Maybe, in a year or so, they might have pups of their own.

Her heart told her differently. It wasn't that simple. She had made her decision, if there had ever been a decision to make. _No,_ she said to her tiny voice. _I can't._

She stood up slowly and walked over to the frozen stream. She broke a hole in the ice and took a drink of the cold water.

"Why, there you are, Canisp," said a terrifyingly familiar voice from behind her. "You're a bit late, but I'm glad you came."

Canisp didn't think. She leapt clear over the stream and swung around to face the voice, getting her back to a sturdy tree. "Maugrim," she snarled across the water.

There was no reply for a few moments. Finally, Maugrim's voice sneered, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm sure you already know that._" _The venom dripping from Canisp's voice could have killed a dragon. "Where are you? Show your face and I'll rip you to pieces."

There was another long pause. Then the branches of a Pine rustled, and out of the tree line stepped…a lithe, tawny creature that was definitely not Maugrim.

"Hello," said the Fox apologetically, in a smooth, pleasant voice that was nothing like the Wolf's. "Sorry about that, but it was necessary, you know. You might have been a Vereor spy. My name is Coeptis."

Canisp looked at him, and then back into the trees. She repeated the action several times. "What… how… what was _that_?"

The Fox grimaced. "I assume you're talking about _this_?" he asked in a flawless impression of Maugrim's rougher voice.

Canisp's jaw dropped. "How do you _do_ that?"

Coeptis flashed a sharp-toothed smile. "Practice," he said simply. "Lots and lots of practice. It's come in handy a fair few times, mind you, being able to imitate the _real _leader of the Vereor."

"Yes," agreed Canisp. "I can imagine..." She frowned. "You've been calling them the Vereor. I thought that was a Wolf term!"

Coeptis chuckled and shook his head. "Resistance term. Meya coined it, named them after their first leader. Tell me, who was it among the Wolves who first called them the Vereor?"

Canisp thought about it. "Meya," she sighed. "Of course, Meya. So she's been a part of this for a while, then?"

Coeptis laughed incredulously. "A _part_ of it? She's never been just a _part_ of it. She was one of the original four—her and some Red Dwarves. They've been quietly recruiting for years." He glanced around suddenly. "Are we safe?" he asked. There was a pause, and the trees rustled an affirmative. The Fox nodded and turned back to Canisp. "Mainly we're just in reserve, you know. We go about our daily lives, do a few minor raids here and there… but nothing major."

"Why? Why don't you fight the Vereor—if Meya was one of you, why didn't you raid their sweep? You could have _saved_ her!"

Coeptis winced. "We don't fight openly because of the old prophecy. We all know that the White Witch will only be killed when two Sons of Adam and two Daughters of Eve arrive in Narnia. So why kill ourselves trying to take her if we know we'll fail? But when they _do_ arrive, there is an army in these woods that can be fully mobilized and ready to fight in less than two hours." He sighed and hung his head. "As for saving Meya, she was the one who had to make the decision not to raid the Vereor sweeps. The only reason we've not been ferreted out yet is that we're not a real threat. Get one Centaur involved in a raid on the Vereor, and they'll retaliate by killing off the Centaurs, and Narnia won't stand for it. The whole country would end up slaughtered. We can't win in open war, remember?"

Canisp was forced to acknowledge that she remembered. She wasn't forced to like it.

"I wanted to save her," Coeptis said quietly after a strained moment. "She was my friend too."

"And…" Canisp swallowed. "And Meya's been working on this the whole time I've known her?"

Coeptis hesitated, then nodded once. "You were what inspired her in the first place, you know. She said that you'd shown her…you can't just lie down and accept your fate. She said that it was time for Narnia to reclaim itself, that even if we failed, we would be remembered as the heroes who had the audacity to dream of a better world. It was…quite a powerful speech. I'm honored to have heard it."

"Then why did she never _tell _me?" cried Canisp. She knew it was petty, but she had never felt so betrayed. She'd thought that she and Meya had told one another everything. The one person she was one hundred percent certain she could trust was her sister…and now she learned that the entire time she had known her, Meya had been deceiving her.

Coeptis' eyes were sad. "She only wanted to protect you, Canisp. Those early years were bad—very bad. And you… well, you're the perfect rebel: noble, free, resentful at being caged in. The only way you could ever convince anyone you weren't one of us was if you _weren't_. You had to have no involvement—none at all—with us, or it would all be over. Total innocence was the only thing that could save you. Meya…" He trailed off admiringly and gave a soft, sad chuckle. "She was the chessmaster. She led us well. Nobody suspected her for an instant… not even you."

Canisp blinked back tears. She had never realized…she had never known how strong, how _brave_ Meya truly was. She had really underestimated her.

_And I'll never get a chance to tell her so._

Sensing her distress, Coeptis changed the subject, steering the conversation toward less painful waters. "I'll have to talk to the Dwarves about getting you some armor."

Canisp looked up. "How am I supposed to keep all of this a secret if I'm carting armor around?"

"You won't have to," Coeptis assured her. "We have a hidden cave where we keep our weapons. You can suit up when you go on a raid, but other than that it'll be safe in the armory."

"All right," said Canisp, beginning to feel excited. It felt wonderful to have a purpose again. "So what do I do now?"

"Now," said Coeptis firmly, jumping up onto a rock, "you return to your pack. You won't receive any assignments for a few weeks. Go home; make sure you haven't aroused any suspicion. Try going off on your own into the forest at different times, to see if anyone tails you."

Canisp nodded sharply. "Thank you."

Coeptis shook his head, his amber eyes sparkling. "No," he said, "Thank _you_. We stand a chance now. A real chance."

* * *

It seemed he was right. There was no suspicion aimed at Canisp when she returned; indeed, none but her family seemed to have noticed she was missing. Of course, it helped that she was known for her long flights.

She wasn't sure what to make of Coeptis' statement that they 'stood a chance' now that she had joined. After all, she was just one recruit. However, she took his advice and went off on her own on a regular basis. She was never followed.

After a month or so, a Mockingbird came with her first mission. The next morning, Canisp saw her new Dwarf-made armor for the first time.

It was beautiful. The silvery-blue chain-mail fit her perfectly, and came complete with long slits for her wings, padded along the edges so as not to irritate her skin. Two long, hinged metal strips mystified her until a Faun named Ormid showed her how the three-inch-wide pieces attached to the forward edges of her wings. "Since you can't hold a shield," he explained. Canisp instantly saw what he meant; when she was under attack, her instinct was to throw up a wing to defend herself, and these strips were ideal for that purpose. Ormid then took up a molded steel plate of the same silvery, dark-blue metal as her mail and strapped it onto her head. The helmet narrowed and hardened into a lethal eight-inch-long bayonet out in front of her muzzle. Canisp caught a glimpse of herself in a polished shield, and her eyes glinted with furious joy.

She looked like a warrior.

_Look out, Vereor scum,_ she thought. _This is for my sister._


	14. Massacre

**Chapter 14-Massacre**

Over the next months, Canisp participated in many small raids. A Centaur named Thunderridge explained their purpose. "We know from the ancient prophecy that we cannot take the Witch without humans by our side," he said. "But we can stop her from growing any stronger. We try to keep Dark forces from joining her—Werewolves, Hags, and their ilk."

It wasn't as simple as it sounded, however. The Dark Creatures were gathering faster than the rebels could stamp them out, and every so often a key player in the Resistance would simply… disappear. Sallowpad, among many others, was now working the graveyard shift. It was a darkly accurate play on words; the Vereor had started night raids and the Dryad early-warning system was no longer the foolproof safeguard it had once been. The raids were becoming more and more desperate, the victories more and more short-lived.

But sometimes it is only when things are at their darkest that light can best be seen. Safe under Govinia's expert eye and with no complications, Firebird gave birth to a beautiful litter of three healthy pups. Two were of a fine, robust red, like their mother. A male and a female named Blitz and Erina respectively, they had also inherited what their mother once called an unholy blend of Jenga's stubbornness and Mercury's self-assurance. Erina, the oldest, had frightened poor Firebird half to death by striking out for the fireplace the day her eyes opened, while Blitz, the biggest, seemed utterly convinced he could fly, leaving Mercury to make several impressive dives to save his only son from certain doom. Only one of the pups, a smaller female named Moondust, had inherited her father's silvery fur and her mother's calm disposition, and she would have been in a fair way to be spoiled had she not had siblings to keep her in her place.

One night, Jenga teasingly asked Mercury if he still wanted to join the Resistance. Mercury didn't answer. He was asleep.

Jenga and Thor had joined, however. They were often in the same patrols as Canisp, and had formed an even closer bond than before because of it. At first it had surprised Canisp that they got to work together so often—almost exclusively, in fact—but it made sense. Since patrols were often spotted by the White Witch's allies, they wore no armor, which would incriminate them, and were made up of people who were often seen together outside of patrols whenever possible. Groups of friends caught out after curfew could conceivably pretend they weren't up to anything much. This didn't always work ("Oh, we're not up to anything in particular, we're just out for an idle stroll at 3:00 in the morning…") but it usually helped. Canisp, and then Thor and Jenga a few months later, had been shocked to find how many of the Wolves were rebels; they had worked with at least half the pack at one time or another, and some of the Wolves were dominants.

Jenga, Canisp, and Thor were on patrol, having gotten their assignment from Scuttleleaf the Squirrel that morning. They were staking out a place where a pack of Werewolves was rumored to be due any day now. It was the kind of thing they had gotten used to—a straightforward, almost boring assignment.

Until they smelled the smoke.

The wolves' first thought as they raced toward the fire was that a raiding party had been attacked. But that just didn't seem right, for some reason…

Canisp was the first to hear the screams. Thor was the first to realize that there were far too many of them for the source to be a simple raiding party. Jenga was the first to realize where they were coming from.

But they all heard the terrified howl that told them everything they needed to know.

Someone or something was attacking the home pack.

* * *

Canisp's first instinct was to charge into the fray, fangs bared and figurative banner flying, but common sense slowed her. She crouched low in the snow and peered cautiously over the crest of the hill where she had once taken refuge from the deadly threat of snowballs.

At first she couldn't comprehend what she was seeing. Dark shapes grappled in the flickering clearing like shadows come to life: Wolves, leaping at one another's throats, ripping and snarling. Moving among the lupine adversaries were Dwarves wielding whips, swords, and axes, all dripping blood. The Dryads were unable to help. They had been thrown into a panic by the raging fire that blazed in a ring around the clearing; even as Canisp watched, one of the slim figures staggered, fell, and did not rise.

The screams had died down, and Canisp felt a wave of nausea when she realized that it wasn't the correct analogy; the screams had been _killed_. The only sound now was the frantic panting of a black Wolf in the center of the clearing. Canisp heard Maugrim's voice, cocky and sneering as always, but couldn't make out his words. The response of the dark, wounded creature came across loud and clear, however.

"_Never!_ I'll die first! Monsters! They were innocents! There were _children-_"

Then three of the huge, hulking shadows leapt at him, and there was silence except for the crackling flames.

The Vereor turned back to the southeast, grumbling angrily. There wasn't a single Vereor wolf that wasn't limping or nursing some other injury, and they took it out on—on—

"Canisp," Jenga moaned.

Canisp had seen. Clustered off to the side, surrounded by an alert guard of Wolves, werewolves, Dwarves, Ogres and even a Minotaur, was a crowd of terrified she-wolves. One young female—a child, she couldn't have been more than a year old—tried to slip between two inattentive Ogres and bolt. She managed to escape the circle for exactly as long as it took a Dwarf to bend his bow.

The captive she-wolves cried out too late, and the brave little one fell before she had a chance to hear them. An older she-wolf who Canisp could only assume was her mother rounded furiously on the Dwarf; a werewolf snarled viciously at her, and she slowly stood down.

The Vereor were done playing. Canisp pressed herself into the snow and tried not to whimper as the crowd of she-wolves was hustled away.

At the edge of the clearing, one wolf—Maugrim, she assumed—stopped and gave a long, primal howl of victory that sent shivers of terror running up Canisp's spine. She could feel Jenga trembling beside her, and Thor's breath was shallow and uneven. It was the sound of unadulterated bloodlust.

When it finally faded into oblivion, a small shape Canisp hadn't noticed before—a cloaked figure that looked rather like an elderly woman—raised a single crooked hand, and immediately the flames flickered and disappeared, as if they had never been there to begin with.

* * *

The Vereor had taken no chances.

Canisp studied the carnage, feeling sick. Each face, each name caused a stab of pain deep inside her. Aram, a pregnant Sierra…ah, and there was Bilanz. The Wolves had put up a good fight. There were members of the Vereor lying dead as well, but their deaths did nothing to assuage the loss of the Free Wolves. Carmine, Kurzen… some had been in the Resistance. Many had not. Ascra, Vogel, Epsilon… Blitz... Erina.

Mercury.

Canisp couldn't suppress a cry of pain as she recognized the silvery wolf. He lay across the roots of a gnarled old Oak, his head thrown back at an unnatural angle. His neck was broken.

"No," gasped Jenga. She leapt out of the bushes and hurried to Mercury's side. As Thor and Canisp watched, a single tear ran down Jenga's muzzle and landed in Mercury's fur.

There was silence for some time. Then Jenga spoke, her voice coarse. "The others," she croaked.

"What do you-"

"The others!" snapped Jenga, fear in her voice. "We can't be the only ones left; there must be more survivors! _Someone has to have escaped!_"

Canisp understood immediately. _Firebird._

Thor understood as well. He was standing very still on the opposite side of the clearing. "Jenga," he called softly, his voice wavering. "You… you need to see this." As Jenga walked slowly towards him, trembling, he whispered, "I'm so sorry…"

Canisp walked beside her friend, but she already knew what they were about to see.

She was right. Lying several yards away in a pool of dark blood, torn almost in half, was a small red she-wolf who could only be Firebird.

Jenga froze. Her face was a mask of pain and shock. For a long time, she didn't move.

The silence was broken by a tiny sound: the quiet squeak of a puppy's whimper. Three heads shot up, but it was Jenga's eyes that immediately found the source.

Moondust had somehow survived the onslaught. The small silver puppy crouched among the roots of an Oak, attempting to struggle to her feet. Her leg was clearly broken, and she whimpered again, collapsing. Jenga had just lifted a foot to step toward her niece when a twig snapped in the forest just out of sight.

Instinctively, the three adults faded back among the Trees, and not a moment too soon. The instant they were out of sight an unnaturally large, slightly reddish Vereor wolf stepped into the moonlight. He barely spared Firebird's body a glance, instead looking sharply around himself. He narrowed his eyes in the direction of the three survivors, somehow sensing that they were there. At that moment, Moondust gave another pitiful whimper. A strange, small frown appeared on the Wolf's face. Stepping callously over Firebird's broken form, he lowered his head, and carefully, almost lovingly, he bit down on the back of the pup's neck. There was a small _snap,_ and her small silver body went limp.

It was the last straw for Jenga. She leaped out of the shadows, lunging at the wolf's throat, and neither Canisp nor Thor tried to stop her. They, too, had recognized the wolf. His name was Warrior, and he was one of the dominants who had joined the Vereor right after Maugrim.

More importantly, he was Jenga's brother.

**A/N:** If you don't hate me yet, I am doing my job wrong.


	15. Final

**Chapter 15-Final**

Normally, on her own, Jenga would never have been able to defeat a member of the Vereor. Warrior was slightly smaller than the average Vereor wolf—Canisp didn't know if this was because he hadn't been with them very long, or because he wasn't as enthusiastic about their preferred diet—but he was still much stronger than she. He knocked her aside as she leaped, and swung his muzzle toward her throat. Before he could bite, however, Thor and Canisp jumped at him, knocking him off-balance just long enough for Jenga to rocket to her feet and throw him down, pinning him under her.

There was a very long pause.

"Jenga," said Warrior finally, "You won't kill your own brother."

"You're no brother of mine," replied Jenga in a pained whisper. Her breath caught in a sob, but she choked it back impatiently.

"But I _am_," insisted Warrior. "I know you can't have forgotten how close we were, Jen. Remember playing tag along the Great River? We're family… Jenga, we're family."

Fury and pain filled Jenga's face. "I think you've made it obvious how much family means to _you!_" She finished the sentence with an anguished cry, lunging forward. He stopped her at the last possible moment, planting a powerful forepaw at the base of her throat.

"If you're talking about—" he started, his voice cracking strangely.

"_Don't_ even _say_ her name!" cried Jenga furiously. "You filthy—_mongrel—_let me _go—_how you can even say her—you—_murderer!" _She struggled violently, trying to hold the larger Wolf down and free her head at the same time.

Now Warrior looked angry. "I was doing her a favor!" he snapped. With these words, he collected his rear legs and kicked Jenga off of him, rolling upright. "You don't know what…" His voice broke, and Canisp saw with shock that there were tears welling in his eyes. "Jenga…" Suddenly, he was no longer a fierce Vereor cur. He was Warrior, Jenga's sweet, adventurous brother. Rather than appearing threatening, he now looked like he needed a hug.

"_Jen_… my orders were to bring back _any_ surviving females, no matter what age, as long as they weren't too old to bear litters. I couldn't… you _know_ I could never condemn a pup to that life! It was the only other option… she couldn't escape, not a little baby like that, she can barely talk. I was… I gave her the only gift I could." He cast a tormented look at the still body. When he spoke again, his voice was high and wavering.

"She was Firebird's daughter… wasn't she."

Jenga stood frozen, watching her brother. Slowly, she nodded, stepped forward and gently licked his cheek. "I didn't realize…" she hesitated.

Warrior looked like he would welcome a swift death himself. "_I _didn't realize you were still alive," he murmured. "Or else I would have given her to…" He looked up sharply. "Jenga!" he cried, as if just realizing she was there. "What are you still doing here? Don't you realize that you two—" he lowered his head in Canisp's direction. "—are the last female wolves in all of Narnia? Don't you realize what that means?" There was a definite note of panic in his voice now. "Do you not know what they'll do to you if they know you're alive? You have to get out of here. You need to run for it… get over into the Western Wild, all the way to the High Mountains if you can. You might be able to get through, just the two of you… three, less of a chance, but he'll have to go as well; they'll kill him if they find him. Well? What are you waiting for? Get going!"

"It's too late for that," said Thor carefully.

Canisp turned. "What do you mean?" she whispered. The question was answered for her when she followed his line of sight and saw the figures silhouetted on the crest of the hill, clearly illuminated by the full moon.

Jenga swore violently under her breath.

Werewolves. It looked like every single werewolf who had ever managed to slip past a raiding party was strung along the top of the hill, several ranks deep. They were too feline to be wolves, too human to be cats, and far too lupine to be human. Their fur ranged from short and grey to reddish brown and shaggy, and their claws were long and razor-sharp, and retractable, like a cougar's.

The largest, a dark reddish creature, spoke in a low, even, growling voice that made Canisp's skin crawl."Surrender," he said. "You cannot fight. There is no option. We do not know mercy. Surrender."

"Or we could run," suggested Jenga in as even a voice as she could muster.

"You could," agreed the creature in that same terrifyingly even voice. "But it would be folly. We can run a hundred nights without rest and not be tired. Can you say as much?" Their silence answered for them. "Surrender now," he continued, "and the males go free. Attempt to fight… and you will watch them die slowly before you serve your purpose."

Warrior bristled. "Silence, monster," he snarled. "And do not presume to threaten a member of the Queen's Secret Police. I think you will find my life is worth far more than yours." He stepped forward, ignoring Jenga's gasp of protest. "You are dismissed," he said in an authoritative voice. Striding forward until he was feet from the werewolves, he barked, "Did you not hear me? You are dismissed! Return to the place the Queen has set aside for your ilk, or else—"

He never finished the sentence. Five of the werewolves leapt at him, and with a single choking cry he fell, never to rise again.

The three remaining wolves froze, looking up at the Dark creatures. They were impatient now, awaiting their answer. Canisp felt hopelessness threaten to overwhelm her. How could they fight these things? They stood there, blood dripping from their claws, uninjured, while she was stupefied by horror, tired, and afraid. The werewolves were strong, fast, and powerful. They were… _ranged targets._

Cursing herself for not thinking of it sooner, Canisp called forth, for the first time in over two years, the elastic layer of her being that seemed to stretch beneath her skin, rearranging it at her command. With the familiar sensation of a shallow ripple traveling across her skin at the speed of thought, she was in human form. Holding her hands in a non-threatening gesture at shoulder height, she spoke slowly, carefully, trying to channel Coeptis. "Listen, friends," she said earnestly. Perhaps she was channeling Coeptis _too_ well; it was almost a passable imitation of his voice. "We don't want to make trouble. We don't know what's going on here, so we apologize for any miscommunication. We'll just cooperate and there's no need for—" Suddenly she whipped her bow off her back, nocked two arrows, and let them fly, straight at the lead werewolf. The first flew harmlessly by his left ear, but the second buried itself deeply in his throat. While the others were still stunned by the sudden development, she shot three more of the monsters, silently thanking Coeptis for insisting she brush up on her training. Then, with a furious howl that was still somehow not quite lupine, the werewolf squadron threw themselves forward, charging the Wolves.

"Run!" cried Jenga, and Canisp couldn't have agreed more. She had time to take down one more werewolf before she turned, shifting into wolf form mid-dive. She snapped open her wings and launched herself into the air, her legs almost getting tangled in the uppermost branches as she struggled for altitude. Whether by luck or by the Dryads' assistance, she managed to clear the tree line and shot off over the forest, tracking her friends from above. She wasn't about to leave them to the mercy of the werewolf horde.

Thus began the final run of the last of the Free Wolves of Narnia.


	16. Last

**Chapter 16-Last**

Once more, Canisp folded her wings, locked them, and dove. At the last possible second, she flared them sharply. The sudden stop granted her a split-second of virtual weightlessness, during which she shimmered into human form, making a wild grab at the nearest branch. She just barely managed to catch hold of it, almost toppling backwards and attempting to suppress a shriek of panic.

Vertigo was something she was not familiar with, being a flying creature, and it was extremely irritating not to have wings. For a few moments she simply clutched the branch, steadying her heart rate. Then she heard the crashing and murderous howls approaching her tree, and she hurriedly readied her bow and placed an arrow on the string. She had lost track of the number of times she had done this tonight; land in a Tree, shoot the leading werewolves, take off before they could climb up after her, repeat. She had succeeded in nothing but buying her friends some time, however. She couldn't take out all of the werewolves; she was a halfway decent archer, but she wasn't good enough to take out almost fifty creatures with roughly fifteen arrows, even if every shot flew home. As it was, she had barely thinned the herd; many of the werewolves had simply plucked out her arrows and kept running.

A blur of red flashed beneath the tree, a dark shadow on its tail. Canisp drew her arrow to her ear and fired at the werewolf closest to her friends. More shots followed in quick succession. The werewolves scattered, pausing their pursuit for a moment to take cover. Canisp reached back to her quiver, and her fingers brushed a single shaft. She made to draw it, but caution and perhaps the voice of instinct stayed her hand.

Something told her she would need that arrow.

Instinctively, she drew her dagger; when ranged defenses fail, switch to melee. Of course, if the werewolves got so close to her that she could use a dagger, she would be lost. She made to drive the knife into its sheath, but at that moment a sudden wind rocked the Tree. She missed the scabbard, scoring the leather belt. Giving an irritated snarl, she sheathed her dagger and shifted her weight on the branch, tensing to jump.

Leaping into empty space, she flashed back to her wolf, feeling much less vulnerable when the cold air filled her wings like sails. The interim had let her fall dangerously low, and one of the werewolves leaped up and snapped at her; but she was flying already, pulling herself high above the trees to wheel after the remnants of her family.

Something, however, was very wrong. She caught up to Jenga and Thor in no time at all… and they weren't running. They were paused, scuffling nervously, on the bank of the Great River. Canisp dove and landed heavily beside them. No one had to say anything; they understood. They couldn't run on the ice, there was no traction. If they could have, the best plan would be to turn and run along the river, but by sheer bad luck they had come to a dramatic bend. If they tried to run in either direction, they would be turned back the way they had come, and their pursuers could easily cut them off. If it wasn't for Canisp's timely shooting, they would be caught already. As it was, they had perhaps a minute before the horde was on them.

Jenga turned wide, panicked amber eyes to her friend. "Canisp," she breathed frantically, "what are we going to _do_?"

Oddly, Jenga's terror cleared Canisp's head, and suddenly she knew how to answer. Making yet another switch to human form, she fumbled slightly with the buckle on her belt before removing it and tossing it to the ground. Changing forms was an integral part of Canisp, normally as effortless as breathing; but so many form changes in such a short space of time tired her, and she rolled her shoulders before giving a resigned sigh and switching back to her wolf. "Each of you grab one end," she told the others, perhaps more snappishly than she would have without the aches engendered by her constant changes. Thor, bless him, understood the _changeling sickness_, as he had dubbed it, and paused for a moment to give her a sympathetic look and a gentle lick on the cheek before grabbing one end of the belt. Jenga took the other, and not a moment too soon. The moment the leather was securely between her teeth, the werewolves burst from the tree line. Canisp snatched a mouthful of sword belt and leaped into the air, and the trio bolted out over the river.

Canisp couldn't lift two fully-grown Wolves, of course, but she didn't need traction to _fly_. Their weight kept her tethered to the ground, but she was towing them now, faster than she had dared hope, over the ice. There were some definite disadvantages to this plan; not only did her position mean she couldn't see, but they had reached such a reckless pace over the frozen river that it would be no small feat to stop by any other means than…well, crashing into the opposite bank.

Given the fact that they were running for their lives, not being able to stop would have been a blessing in disguise…if.

If things had gone according to plan. If fate had been on their side that night. If that blast of wind had occurred only an instant sooner or a heartbeat later. But those things didn't happen. Rather, the unexpected happened, as it is wont to do. In this case, _the unexpected_ took the form of the slash in the leather of the sword belt, inflicted by Canisp's dagger when her Tree had swayed. The strain of pulling a fully-grown Narnian Wolf at breakneck pace proved too much for the weakened strap, and it tore away, sending Jenga skidding away across the ice with a panicked cry, scrabbling frantically until she toppled over. Canisp flared her wings in an attempt to stop, but without Jenga's weight to offset Thor's there was no way to balance her load. The sudden halt sent herself and Thor spinning out of control until they crashed painfully into the snow-covered, pebbly shore. Canisp picked herself up, looking back for Jenga.

Her heart almost stopped. She hadn't thought of the fact that the werewolves' long, sharp claws could dig into the ice where theirs couldn't, allowing them to follow the Wolves, though not quite keep pace with them. But they had now been given plenty of opportunity to catch up to Jenga. They stood in a group around her, the largest with his claws at her throat. She whimpered and struggled, but he placed the razor-sharp talons against her jugular, and she froze.

The werewolf called in his gravelly voice. "Enough. You led us a proper chase, Wolves, but the run is over. We can respect your courage. If the she-wolf will surrender, the male will even now go free to hunt where he will. Refuse and your friend will pay the price." He put just enough pressure on the points of his claws that they pricked through Jenga's skin, and she choked back a cry of pain.

Canisp cast a tormented glance at Jenga, and in that instant a sort of understanding passed between the two. Almost as if they had planned it between them, Canisp rippled into human form and drew her faithful bow for the last time. Taking up her last arrow, she made a silent plea to Aslan and fired into the group on the ice.

It was a shot in a million, merciful and quick; the honest Narnian arrow flew straight through the eye of her target. Jenga suffered for less than the span of her final heartbeat before collapsing silently. She was with her sister again.

There was utter silence for a few seconds. Then the lead werewolf looked up at Canisp and growled, "Kill them!"

And they were running again.

This time, however, there was a difference. Canisp ran at Thor's side now, wings folded against her back. If this was the end, they would face it together. She matched her pace to Thor's, remembering only too well what had happened the first time she had left Meya behind. She wouldn't lose Thor the same way, not now. She couldn't. Not when he was all she had left.

As soon as the thought had crossed her mind, of course, they skidded to an abrupt halt. The snow-brushed ground had fallen away before them, revealing a bare ledge of cold gray rock and the eighty-foot drop just beyond.

A cursory glance told them all they needed to know. There was no way down.

"Canisp." Thor turned to her, unbearable sadness emanating from every inch of his body. "Canisp…you have to…"

"No." Canisp growled. The werewolves had been slowed by the ice, but they were gaining, the sound of the pursuit growing far too close.

"We both know what has to happen here, Canisp!" hissed Thor, panic causing his voice to crack.

"No!" she insisted, fighting the terror that was closing her throat. "I won't. Thor, I won't leave you."

"If you won't jump I'll push you," he said roughly. She met his eyes, and saw no hint of bluff.

Unbidden, she remembered Meya's words from the day that had haunted her nightmares: _If our positions were reversed…_

There was no time for a proper good-bye; the werewolves were almost on them. But she had time enough for this; the one chance the Vereor would not take from her.

Canisp tucked her head under Thor's. "I love you," she whispered.

And as the werewolves burst from the trees, she whirled and dove into the darkness. There was a single cry from the cliff, of pain, of agony, cutting off far too quickly, and then Canisp snapped out her wings and soared over the trees, feeling her heart shattering into infinitesimal pieces and wondering in some dim corner of her mind if she shouldn't have simply kept them folded and let herself break on the forest floor below.

**A/N:** Show of hands! Who hates me now? Oh dear. All of you?


	17. Pain

**A/N:** Well isn't _that_ an auspicious chapter title...

**Chapter 17-Pain**

She didn't know how long she drifted, hanging on ragged gusts of wind that howled angrily around her. She realized she was drifting east, rather than toward the relative safety of the Western Wild; she couldn't remember turning and she couldn't manage to care enough to alter course. She waited for the crushing pain of Meya's capture, but it never came. She simply felt numb.

Even in her years as a supposed _loner_, she had never been completely solitary. Always, she'd had a companion; be it the casual acquaintance of a Squirrel for the afternoon, a friendly conversation by a Badger's fireside, a sporting adventure with a young Centaur trying to prove his courage, or the unswervingly loyal presence of… all that time ago… and even _he _was gone…

Her utter aloneness crashed over her suddenly, with no warning. She gasped for breath and went limp with the shock of it, dropping alarmingly before catching herself on shaking wings. She angled downward, pure survival instinct driving her to be on the ground when she collapsed.

She barely made it. Her wings wavered, failed, and she dropped heavily the last few feet, staggering and falling to the snow. She shivered uncontrollably, lungs filling in shallow, erratic surges, faces flashing behind her eyes. She felt like a lifeboat, cast adrift on a boiling sea of horror. Countless names repeated themselves in a merciless litany, again and again, snatching and pulling and trying to drag her under, and she knew they would never let her go. _Meya, Thor, Jenga, Firebird, Mercury, Moondust, Erina, Blitz, Meya, Thor…_

"Fancy meeting you here."

There was no need to ask for identification. She knew the voice far too well. _Maugrim_, she mouthed. She no longer had the strength to even summon the oxygen required to whisper.

"It's over, Canisp," said Maugrim quietly. Had he always been standing at her shoulder, waiting for her to break? It seemed like it. Surely her entire existence had been lived under his shadow. His darkness had blotted out the sun, muffled the sounds of laughter that others got to hear…

Canisp was fairly certain she was going mad, but she simply couldn't find it within herself to care.

"Come along now," Maugrim said, almost gently. "There's nothing left for you here."

Canisp went with him. She didn't bother trying to fight. She had nothing left to resist with. She simply followed in his wake, her vision obscured by burning tears that some faint part of her was still too proud to shed, and she knew that this was the end.

And then, clean as the note of a hunting horn in a still dawn, as brilliant and gentle and bright as a sunrise, Canisp heard Meya's voice, as clearly as if she'd been standing next to her.

_No, Canisp,_ Meya whispered. _Not that. Never that. You can't give up hope._

Canisp gave a tiny gasp. Maugrim looked over his shoulder at her, then seemed to write the sound off as a sob and continued on his way.

There was a pause, and then Canisp heard a different voice. It was Thor's low murmur, soft and strong as stars in a midnight-blue sky, gentle as a moonlit stream.

_You've come so far, _he said, and she could almost hear the tender smile. _I can see it now, Canisp. You're more important than you realize._

Maugrim pushed Canisp in front of him, and she saw the outline of the Witch's palace, but paid it no attention.

"What?" Canisp whispered. She was long past worrying about the implications of talking to hallucinations.

_You're the beacon, Canisp. _Meya again. _You're a living sign that change can happen; that it _must _happen, for our world to go on. _She could almost feel the warmth of Meya's fur pressing against her side, but it never came.

And then Thor was back. _And change is happening. It's set in motion even now. But you have to go on, Canisp. Your fight's not over yet. If the Witch can't break you, she can't break the Resistance. Think about what you're fighting for, love._

_Not what. _Meya's voice was more distant now, fading. _Who. They need you, Canisp. Think of all the innocents who need you. You're one of them, you know. You can't abandon them, any of them, and that means you can't abandon yourself. Don't you _dare.

Deep inside herself, Canisp began to feel a change. From some dark recess of her soul, her fighting spirit—battered and bruised, but still very much alive—was clawing its way up. Its progress was slow, like climbing out of molasses, but with every second that passed, with every word her friends spoke, it was getting stronger, its heavy chains falling away.

Thor, barely audible now, gave a faint chuckle. There _she is._

Canisp closed her eyes and let herself breathe. When she opened them again it was like waking from a vivid, confusing dream. She took a good look at her surroundings, comprehending them for the first time. She was in a small, square stone room. A single torch spluttered in the hall outside, throwing the high, barred window into stark relief. The dim flame gave only enough light to let her see that there wasn't much to see. Black iron chains hung from the walls, and she didn't want to think about what was on the other side of the heavy oak door.

She thought about her recent vision, or communion with the dead, or vivid hallucination; she wasn't sure. Whatever it was, it had filled her once again with a powerful, burning desire to _live_. Maybe it wasn't quite courage, not yet; but for now, defiance would have to be enough.

She was going to need every bit of it.

* * *

Over the next days—weeks? Months? Time seemed meaningless here—Canisp's world dissolved into a swirl of fear and pain and blood splattered on black rocks.

She gained an intimate knowledge of the color of her own blood. It was different from the dark red of most creatures, also a color she had been forced to become familiar with. It was almost beautiful, she thought dimly, watching it drip sickeningly down her paw; a bold, bright scarlet, shot through with the faintest glimmer of dusky gold.

After a while, she barely noticed it.

Silver barbs whistled through the air, glinting wickedly in the light from the single torch, tearing strips of flesh with every swing…black, red, white.

They gave her thick bedding, comfortable wood chips. The wood was rowan, and how they had known the torment that would cause her open wounds she didn't know; it was like trying to sleep on poison ivy. She tore _herself_ for days, scratching frantically at the burning over her skin.

The bare rock was cool on burning cuts, so she slept there.

Folter's was the face she gave her torment. He was a short, stocky Dwarf with hair and beard like braided gold, eyes the same pale blue as a robin's egg, and a flawless white smile. He only smiled when Canisp screamed.

He smiled a lot.

By nights, Maugrim found his own forms of torture. Canisp, as he informed her regularly, was lucky she had only to endure him. The White Witch, whose interest in her changeling prisoner had never been explained beyond her questionable knowledge of Resistance figures, had access to knowledge that Dinaric, excellent researcher though he was, could only guess at. Canisp had been unsure whether or not to believe Maugrim when he told her she was sterile.

"A shame, really," he'd said as she struggled against an iron muzzle, cringing into the shadows. "I meant it when I said our pups would have been valuable. But who knows? There might be a miracle."

She prayed whenever he came near her that the Witch was right.

Before very long, she lost the ability to distinguish between the old pain and the new. The same questions and threats and demands circled around her every day, and time became fluid, flexible, everything mixing together in a confusing cocktail that tasted like iron and salt. There was only one incident that stood out with painful clarity.

* * *

It was a different room than she was used to; larger, with a tiny, barred window near the ceiling and more than one door. She couldn't help but sniff in its direction; the faint scent of sky was whispering through the bars, and she hadn't seen sunlight in so _long_…

Folter gave her chain a sharp, calculated tug, tugging her around by the muzzle and out of the brief moment of hope. He tossed the chain over a hook, pulled it taut and slipped out the door. He returned a minute later with the same small, shriveled old woman Canisp had seen before…where? Her thoughts were so confused…the massacre of the pack. That was it… She was promptly horrified with herself. How could she possibly have forgotten?

Folter moved in front of Canisp, casually swinging a length of rope. Crouching down in front of her, he held it up. "Do you know what this is?" he asked.

Canisp averted her eyes. There were no bloodstains on this floor, yet. That was a shame, she thought dimly. She'd gotten used to distracting herself by finding pictures in them.

"This is a rope."

"You don't say." Canisp instantly wanted to take the words back. Spiritless as they had been, they were a rise. She didn't dare speak during these sessions; just once, she had weakened enough to blurt out a name: _Carmine_. Carmine had died in the massacre of the home pack, of course; but Canisp had only remembered that afterwards, and she didn't trust herself any longer. The only safety was in silence.

"But not just any rope," Folter continued. "We've made this one especially for you. Can you imagine what might be special about it?" He held out the rope for her to inspect.

It was nondescript enough, a perfectly average piece of tan rope. But then what were those green flecks, almost like leaves…

No. _No. _Not that_. Anything but that…_ But she knew what it was. She recognized the burning, acidic smell of the plant.

The rope had _wolfsbane_ woven into it.

The little old woman in the corner gave a shrill cackle. "Oh, she knows, I think!"

Folter nodded solemnly, but didn't smile. Not yet. "I think she does as well, Mistress Alp." He held the rope teasingly closer to Canisp's face, and before she could stop herself she shrank back, giving a whimper of fear. She tried to step away, only to find that she couldn't move her feet. Tearing her eyes away from the wolfsbane rope, she glanced down to see a sort of black mist curling rapidly up her legs, holding her firmly in place.

All of a sudden, everything fell into place. This _Alp_ was no old woman. She was a Hag, a creature of Dark magic, and a burning hatred curdled up at the memory of trapped Wolves and burning Trees, startling Canisp with its intensity. She didn't have time to act on it, however; the mist covered her wings, freezing them, and then moved over her head. She was completely immobilized.

Folter seemed less sure of this fact than Canisp herself. "You're sure she's not going to break out of this?" he asked the Hag. "I don't need to lose a hand."

Alp gave her unpleasant little laugh again. "Oh, no need to worry about that, Master Folter sir. Your worshipful hands are quite safe with me." Folter didn't seem quite convinced; he unstrapped the leather muzzle from Canisp's face cautiously, as if he could feel the sudden murderous anger emanating from his captive. But the Hag's spells held true, and he wasted no more time. Flicking the twist carelessly out of the rope, he wound it quickly around Canisp's left front foot, crisscrossing it up her foreleg, under her wings, across her shoulders, and latticing down her right leg and around her ankle. The black mist seemed to be a sort of force field, preventing the rope from touching her, but its caustic aura surrounded her all the same, and the scent alone made it hard to breathe.

Folter finally showed his perfect teeth, smiling pleasantly at the terrified changeling, and her fear found new heights even as she struggled fruitlessly to break free. "You have one chance to stop us from removing this screen." She felt the black mist melt away from her mouth, leaving the rest of her head immobilized. "You might start with a name…"

_Coeptis. Sallowpad. Ormid, even. Say _something!

She snarled, at herself or the Dwarf she didn't know. Folter looked quite satisfied with her response either way. He tightened the ropes enough that Canisp could feel the pressure even through the force field, and nodded to Alp. The Hag raised a hand, and the black mist vanished.

For a heartbeat there was silence. Then Canisp's knees buckled, and she threw back her head and screamed.

Everything was gone.

There was nothing but blackness and blood and pain and indescribable agony, and she didn't know how long it had lasted already, but she was sure it was something close to eternity and that she would die if it didn't end. She was lost, pinned to a bed of fire, bound in ropes of acid, and invisible blades were slowly sawing through her flesh and bone, and someone was laughing, and far off in the distance, so far away she could barely hear it and wasn't entirely certain it was real, the voice of a Wolf who meant more than life itself called into the darkness and pain in a tormented cry that never ended.

It went on. On, and on, and every second she was certain she couldn't go on, and every second Death failed to save her.

She screamed until she lost the strength to scream anymore.

Finally, through the burn of acid and darkness, she became aware of two dim voices.

"…a disappointment, Maugrim, I must confess."

"Forgive me, your Majesty. Perhaps this will break her."

A pause. Then, finally, "No. You of all people should know, Maugrim: a Wolf's loyalties are absolute. I had hoped… but no matter. A mistake, it would appear. We had best dispose of her."

Canisp, by sheer force of will, managed to raise her head enough to see the sneer on the Witch's face. There was a blue flash, and then she must have blinked, because everything went black. Then she felt her consciousness fading, and then something went _click_ in the back of her mind, and she felt nothing at all.

**A/N:** The End.

HA. Okay sorry that was mean. But I totally had you going for a minute there. No-Canisp's story is far from over. Be glad she's a statue for now-she earned that much, a reprieve. She'll spend the next fifteen-ish years in no pain, as safe as can be expected. And then... well. Spoilers, sweetie.


	18. Reawakening

**Chapter 18-Reawakening**

Canisp's ear itched.

This was a strange thing in itself. She could have sworn she'd been about to die, to become nothing but another tormented statue growing mold in the Witch's basements… but instead of a stiffening effect, her whole body seemed to be loosening, warming.

It was also strange that she would notice something like an itch when just seconds ago she had been on the brink of blacking out from the pain of those wolfsbane ropes…

She opened her eyes, and was immediately overwhelmed by a confusing churn of color and sound. Shapes were twirling around her, shouting loudly and leaping in the air. Canisp gave a terrified cry and scrambled back. What now? She wanted to sob from the sheer unfairness of it all. What were they going to do to her _now_?

The nearest shape saw her panic, and moved toward her.

"Get back!" she snapped instinctively, flaring her wings. In the back of her mind, she registered a brief surprise at how powerful they felt; last she'd known, they had been weak and frail from lack of use. Then she got a good look at her attacker.

It was… a Squirrel who was reassuringly familiar.

"_Scuttleleaf!"_ Canisp cried in relief. "What's going on? And how are you here? You were captured! You were turned into…" Suddenly a horrible thought reared its head, a thought she wasn't ready to entertain.

"Aslan!" squeaked Scuttleleaf ecstatically. "Aslan! The Lion, the Lion! You were stone, yes, yes you were. Statue! Just a pretty statue of a flying wolf, nothing special, no. Me too! Both of us was stone! But then He comes. Comes with Daughters of Eve and breathes on us, see? Then we not stone any more! No more, see?" All of this was said very quickly.

Canisp was just about to ask him to please repeat that part about being a statue when the most astonishing thing she had ever seen—a _human girl,_ a Daughter of Eve!—rushed down the stone steps, up to a glorious golden Lion she knew at once to be Aslan. A thrill of combined fear and exhilaration flowed through Canisp's veins at the sight of him, but it was extinguished by the child's words:

"Aslan! Aslan! I've found Mr. Tumnus! Oh, do come quick!"

_Mr. Tumnus? _Govinia's father? But that was impossible. Tumnus had died years ago… Canisp had gone to his funeral…

Unless… if it is possible for a white wolf to look paler, Canisp paled. No. That was impossible… But if it wasn't…

She hurried after them. One look at the young Faun the girl indicated was all she needed. He was his father in miniature, with his mother's eyes. He even had the odd little white patch of fur down near his right hoof. This was Tumnus Jr., Govinia's son, the two-year-old kid Canisp had known before he could speak. He was a fully-grown Faun now. He greeted the human with an enthusiastic "Lucy!" and grabbed her hands, twirling her around merrily. He didn't spare a glance for the winged wolf standing next to her.

He didn't remember her. What was more, knowing what she did about Faun ages, he was fully grown and old enough to have married. Great Aslan, Govinia was—_had only been—_twenty!

This was too much for Canisp to cope with. All of a sudden, the stone walls of the Fortress seemed to be closing in on her. She had never before needed an escape so badly.

She raced up a flight of stairs and past a group of frightened-looking stone Deer, pausing only to call behind her to the searchers, "Up here! There are a whole lot more on the landing!" Then she pushed—somewhat roughly, it must be admitted—between two Dryads and jumped off the railing of a balcony.

Bliss. The warm air caught her, filled her wings, and whisked her up, up, far away from dank underground rooms stained with blood, away from memories, memories of being bound in ropes of molten fear, drowning in a fiery sea…

_Freedom_. She swept her wings down, arcing through the sweet-smelling, fresh spring air, rich with the golden scent of _life_. For the first time in her life, Canisp was riding the first thermals of spring, and she was home.

Glancing down at the bustling courtyard, Canisp saw that the she-wolf prisoners had not been forgotten. Narnia, even through who-knew-how-many years of the Vereor, had remembered them. Canisp could see that Granite, a powerful and sweet-natured Minotaur, had already taken great pleasure in smashing the heavy oak trapdoor to bits. Several Faun healers were setting up an impromptu field hospital to care for the poor shivering things creeping in twos and threes out of the darkness.

Most of the Wolves were staring around themselves, stupefied by shock, as if they had never seen the sun before; Canisp's bile rose when she realized that some of them never had. Dryads and several matronly Sheepdogs carried out young pups in various stages of emaciation, their mothers plodding weakly in their wake. The Wolves who had been released from the healers' care were being carefully gathered around a Coyote guide. It wouldn't do for these weak, shell-shocked creatures to be anywhere near the battle that was surely going to take place. They would go straight to the castle of Cair Paravel, and meet Aslan's army there. Canisp's heart felt like it would surely burst from the pain and fury of seeing free, noble Wolves reduced to their condition; starving, weak, terrified out of their wits, so dulled by the horror of their lives that delivering stillborn pups was considered a blessing. _Sometimes,_ she thought to herself, _the ones who die in war are the lucky ones. The real victims are sometimes the ones who survive._

"_CANISP_!"

Glancing down at the strangely familiar cry, she barely had time to widen her eyes in shock before a black-and-white feathery blur shot past her head.

"Wha… who?"gasped the disoriented changeling.

"Canisp!" said the same voice disapprovingly. "Don't tell me you've forgotten me!" She felt sharp talons on her back and she had to flap her wings harder as she seemed to suddenly gain several pounds. A cheerful laugh sounded from behind her head. "Nope, you haven't forgotten me. You're still wearing my little token, aren't you?"

"_Orion?"_ Canisp cried, flipping over in midair and dumping the Eagle off her back. "It _is _you! Ori! I never thought I'd… Oh, Aslan, I just can't believe it's really you!"

Orion laughed, a joyous, carefree sound that instantly transported Canisp back to those earliest years of complete freedom. "_I_ can't believe you've still got that feather!" he cried, delighted, and angled his flight feathers to pull over her head.

Canisp smiled, a bit sadly. "Of course I have the feather," she said quietly. "You thought I could forget you?"

"Canisp?" Orion took a moment to assess her mood. "Hey," he said gently. "I don't know what you've been through since I was…well. But today is a day for _celebration_." Giving the eagle approximation of a cheeky grin, he said "Race you to the tower?" Without waiting for an answer, he shifted his feathers and shot away.

"No way!" Canisp protested in spite of herself. "You always win!"

"That's the point!" Orion called back. Shaking her head, Canisp was about to follow him when she sensed something large overtaking her from behind. Immediately, she dipped her left wing and swerved down and to the side, giving the faster creature the right-of-way. She glanced up, and the sight was so wonderful she gasped.

It was a figure straight out of legend; the oldest and noblest of flying creatures, a Greater Griffon from over the sea. He slowed his flight, soaring calmly on the wind, and met Canisp's awed gaze.

A slight pressure, not painful, appeared at Canisp's temples, and a slow, deep voice sounded in her mind. _Greetings, Daughter of Earth and Sky,_ said the Griffon, dipping its beak regally. _It is indeed an honor._

Canisp managed to collect her thoughts enough to think tentatively, _an honor? You flatter me. Your kind are far greater than mine; rarer, at the very least._

The Griffon chuckled. _Nay, small one,_ he said. _For of the long, unbroken race of long-lived Griffons, I am Zhan the three thousand and sixteenth. But it has been many thousands of years since Narnia was graced with the presence of a changeling, and I never presumed that even I would live to see the day when one would come again. Compared to one such as yourself, a Griffon is a very commonplace thing indeed; though I think I should still win, were we to have the misfortune of fighting against one another, for your talons are very small._

Canisp was unsure how to respond to this. _But… _She didn't want to contradict the Griffon, but she didn't see how she could possibly be the first changeling in Narnia for eons. Rare, perhaps, yes; certainly she'd never met any others, but rarer than the Greater Griffons, whom most Narnians saw only once or twice in their lifetimes? _Great one, that's not possible. I don't see how that could be. Where do changelings live, then, if they're so far from Narnia?_

_Do you not know thy own story, small one? _came the reply. Zhan's voice was gentle, but colored with surprise, as well.

Canisp's surprise overshadowed the Griffon's. _Why? _She said urgently. _What is my story? _

The Griffon hesitated, then suddenly twitched his ear to the side. _Aslan speaks, _he said simply, before peeling away from Canisp to land above the gate.

Orion flapped up to Canisp. "Did he speak to you?" he asked in a thoroughly awestruck voice.

Canisp nodded her head mutely, still bewildered. "He… he mentioned my _story_, whatever that means. He said it like it meant…my past. Ori, I just realized I've never _thought_ about it! My earliest memory is… the day I met you, but that _can't_ be right, because I _had_ memories when we met! Where did I come from? If I'm the first changeling in Narnia for eons, where are all the others?" She shook her head slowly. "I…I have to find out, Orion. I've lost everything because of this war…this might be my only chance to find something again." She managed a wry smile. "Besides," she added with a carelessness she didn't feel, "It's going to drive me _mad_ thinking about it."

Orion was silent for a time. "Wherever you need to go to find out, Canisp," he said finally, "I'm coming with you."

A warm breeze ruffled Canisp's feathers. As she dipped her wing to follow Zhan in circling the now-joyous courtyard, Orion followed in her slipstream, and she realized suddenly that she might have been wrong.

Maybe she hadn't lost everything, after all.

**A/N:** Orion's first appearance: Reread Chapter One, very closely. What, did you think that was just a fashion statement?


	19. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

At first glance, you might not even see her.

Canisp was perched on a rock overhanging a slow, steady portion of the Great River, sitting so still she might have been a statue again. Her left foot hung gently off the side of her rock, the quiet water lapping affectionately at her bare toes. She wore thin, flowing pants made of a silky turquoise material and, despite the warmth of the summer air, a white cotton shirt with longer sleeves than she was used to; they flared out at her wrists and covered most of her hands. Her mournful eyes, turned toward the stars, tracedcomforting patterns in the heavens. Her quiver had been filled with scarlet-feathered Narnian arrows, but it lay beside her now, peaceful.

Every so often a wise-eyed Naiad, one of the few older nature spirits Canisp had ever met, would appear and place a smooth stone beside the changeling, which Canisp would turn over in her hands, examining without really seeing it before throwing it deep into the river.

The war was over; Narnia was free. It was her lifelong dream, and she had never imagined that she would live to see it come to fruition.

_Why_ couldn't she be happy?

It was an easy question to answer, really. She had always imagined that if Narnia was freed, she would be able to enjoy it with Thor and Meya at her side. Unconsciously, she brought her right hand to her left wrist, massaging the thick scar left by the wolfsbane rope. The scars were all but healed in wolf form; still very much there, but invisible except for a slight discoloration of the fur that covered them. Eventually, she knew, even that would fade.

In human form, however, where her skin was thin and fragile and there was no fur to hide them, the wounds stood out prominently; thick, ropy scars crisscrossing up her arms. This was the reason for her long sleeves; much like after Meya's death, she had no interest in pity, nor did she have any desire to explain how the scars had been received if she was asked.

Wolfsbane. She shuddered. It was nasty stuff. Poinsettia leaves could neutralize its effects enough to close wounds and prevent further injury, but not even they could reverse the damage that had already been done.

A burst of color in her peripheral vision made her turn. They were shooting off fireworks at Cair Paravel, which Canisp could just barely see from her current location. The Narnians were celebrating the coronation of their new Kings and Queens. Canisp smiled, albeit a bit sadly. She had managed to speak to King Peter earlier that day, to convey her thanks for his slaying Maugrim. She had not said anything about why she was so grateful, and it had been obvious that the young knight had no idea just how vile a beast the Wolf had been. She had merely told him that a swift, painless death at the hand of the High King of Narnia was far more than Maugrim had deserved, but that he had done Narnia a great service. He had accepted her thanks solemnly before his attention was grabbed by one of his lieutenants; Arthur, the eager young chieftain of the Lesser Griffons, who had come to fetch him for some ceremony or another.

Orion gave a tiny snore from a nearby tree, and Canisp's lips twitched. She had tried to convince him several times to go and join in the festivities, but he steadfastly refused to leave her side. ("Remember what happened last time?" he'd said irately. "I got turned into _stone,_ that's what!_"_) She could have gone to the celebration herself, of course—it was an open invitation to all Narnians—but she simply couldn't face it. She was not in the mood for a party, and couldn't bring herself to celebrate when she had barely gotten the chance to mourn.

More fireworks exploded above the shining castle, and a tear rolled down Canisp's cheek. She didn't know why; perhaps it was a lot of things at once. Because she knew, deep inside, that even if Orion's voice could chase away the clouds in her heart, just for a moment, all the gentle cheerfulness in the world couldn't mute the desperate longing she felt for a different voice, one that went with a different face, one that was silenced forever, only a memory…

Her breath caught, tears forced their way painfully into existence, and before she knew it, she was sobbing, silently but uncontrollably, into her arms, crying her heart out in a rush that was long overdue. She mourned the loss of not only her heartmate and her family, but for the past she could never reclaim and the future she didn't know if she had the strength to seek. Her imprisonment had broken her in more ways than one; she barely knew who she was anymore, and Narnia now held too many memories to ever again be the home she had loved.

"Dear one," said a sad, ancient voice behind her. "Why do you weep?"

Even through her grief, the sound of the voice sent a tentative tendril of happiness through Canisp. She knew it could only belong to one person, and she hastily shifted into her wolf, dropping her head in a formal honorific gesture. A great Lion—_the _Lion—stood before her, as she had known he would.

"Forgive me, Aslan," she said humbly. "I know I should be happy. I am, of course I am, I was just… overwhelmed, for a moment."

The Lion observed her, sorrow in his huge eyes. "Do not apologize for your grief, dearest heart," he rumbled, padding silently up to her. "You have suffered much for Narnia, more than even your good Eagle friend realizes. It is only right that you should weep."

Canisp tried to maintain her composure. It was an honor to speak with Aslan, one that she had never dreamed she might have…but something in his gaze broke that resolve, and she found herself nuzzling into the great Mane she had so often sworn by, letting slow, hot tears melt into the golden fur, spilling out her misery and laying it at his feet like an offering. Aslan stood quietly, listening to her. He said not a word until Canisp had finished, but the silence was not one of disapproval.

When he spoke at last, his voice was solemn. "Child," he said gently, "there is something you have not told me." At her confused look, he prompted her, "You have plans."

"Oh!" said Canisp. "Yes. I do. Ori… Orion and I are going to look for… well, my… relatives, if we can find them." The last part was said hesitantly, a term she was unfamiliar with.

Aslan still looked at her. "What prompted this, dear one?"

"I…I talked to Zhan, the Great Griffon, and he said that I was the first changeling in Narnia in thousands of years. I want to find the others, and Orion wants to help me." She didn't know why Aslan would ask about their plans to leave. Perhaps he wanted to help them, or else forbid them to go…?

"Little one," said Aslan gently. "There are no others."

That was not what Canisp had expected. "But how can that be? There must be others somewhere…how else would our species survive?" A horrible thought occurred to her. "Or…" She didn't want to ask, but she had to. "Or…am I the last?"

"No, dear one," Aslan said quietly. "You are not the first, nor shall you be the last. But you will not find any others of your kind."

"Why not?"

Aslan's deep eyes smiled. "What is your name? What is your species?"

"My name is Canisp," she said slowly, as if expecting a trap. "I'm a changeling."

"And how do you know this?"

Canisp opened her mouth, then closed it. She had no answer.

Aslan gave her a patient look. "You spoke to the Griffon. Did he call you by any specific title?"

Canisp hesitated. "Small one?"

Aslan gave a deep, rumbling chuckle. "Before that."

Canisp thought about it. "He called me…Daughter of Earth and Sky."

"Indeed," said Aslan. "And that is truer than you know, for you were not born to parents of flesh and bone; but to the loyal earth and the wild wind. The great mountains are your father; the free sky your mother. And Destiny is your name."

Canisp took a moment to consider this, and realized she had no idea what to say.

Aslan placed a heavy, velveted paw on her shoulder. "Canisp," he said quietly. A twang of pride went through her at the sound of her name. "You do not realize what you are. You are not the same as those who surround you. You are neither Wolf, nor Eagle, nor Man, nor any combination of the three. Your life force, your very soul, has been woven into the fabric of Narnia since her birth. You awoke when the time was right, _because_ the time was right. You are here because you must be."

Canisp shook her head weakly. "I'm afraid I still don't quite understand," she said weakly.

"Changelings only take physical form when the time comes that they can make a positive difference in the world," Aslan said. "You are a symbol; a symbol that Narnia is about to change for the better. Your existence heralds a Golden Age." His eyes were warm.

"And I've… made a difference in the world?"

"Without your help, would your friend Govinia still be alive? Would her son Tumnus have been born, and grown to be the one who saved Lucy Pevensie from the Witch? Without your influence, would your sister have formed the Resistance—the army that defeated the Witch's forces yesterday? If he hadn't met you, would Orion have been in the right place, at the right time, to save the Fox cub Coeptis from the Vereor years ago? Perhaps… and perhaps not. You have certainly changed Narnia, as any who meet you could attest; and it is safe to say that you have changed her for the better."

"Are you saying," said Canisp wonderingly, "that without me…the White Witch would never have been defeated?"

"Child," Aslan said sternly. "No one is ever told what _would have happened."_

Canisp was beginning to understand, in a roundabout sort of way, and now a new question arose. "Now that my purpose has been fulfilled, will my life force be…reabsorbed? Will I just…fade?"

She hated herself for thinking that it might not be so bad.

Aslan looked at her with sadness in his great eyes. "Do you truly feel your purpose is fulfilled?"

Very slowly, because she couldn't lie, Canisp shook her head.

"There is a fire in you," said the Lion, "that demands a cause to fight for, and Narnia will be happy and prosperous for many years to come."

Canisp hadn't realized it until Aslan put the feeling in words, but the moment she heard him say it she knew it was true. Finally, _finally,_ she recognized the true cause of her uneasiness. It was similar to the way a carefree romp in the open woods lost its charm and turned sour if you knew you were _supposed_ to be gathering firewood. The ignored task would leak into the enjoyment, and in the end it would have been better to have done your chores in the first place. She couldn't enjoy the peace in Narnia… because it was only in Narnia, and only for now. There was something, some_where_ else that needed her.

There was, then, only one thing left to ask.

"So what happens now?"

Aslan looked proudly at her. "Dear one," he said, and although his voice was scarcely louder than a whisper she felt the power of the words resonating through her very bones. "Only you know that."

_fin_

**A/N: **For real this time.

To be continued: _Canisp II: Vesta_ to be uploaded ASAP. Thank you, if you've read this far, and especially if you've reviewed-don't let anything keep you from that. Even dropping a line to say you don't like giving reviews, but here's your general impression of the series is like gold to me. But for anyone who's finished this fic: thank you. I hope that you'll stay with Canisp and see this through. If not, safe travels, don't eat anything bigger than your head, don't invite one hobbit to your secret councils because you can't keep the buggers out once you open the floodgates, avoid roasted cabbage and never tickle a sleeping dragon.


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